


Something We Build

by JolinarJackson



Series: Lights To Guide You Home [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Kidnapping, Language, Panic Attacks, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2020-10-09 04:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 84,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20504336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JolinarJackson/pseuds/JolinarJackson
Summary: “You know,” Tony replied, “I heard that Manhattan has neighborhoods, too. I know Hell’s Kitchen is taken but maybe you throw your hat in for Greenwich Village?”“Tony-”“Bowery?”Peter shook his head.“Two Bridges?”Peter huffed a breath and snapped, “Spider-Man’s from Queens!”Tony raised his eyebrows in surprise at his harsh tone and straightened. “Something I said?”When Peter's adoption by Tony is granted one year after May's tragic death, Peter quickly realizes that becoming the official heir to Stark Industries might mean having to give up on his roots for good.Finding solace in going out again as Spider-Man, Peter's close-knit relationship with Tony is soon challenged when he encounters not just alien weapon dealers, but also what appears to be a vicious serial killer terrorizing the city. When Peter discovers just who the killer’s victims are, he is determined to track them down, going against Tony's wish to keep Spider-Man a low-level neighborhood vigilante ... and unknowingly risks becoming a victim himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Spoilers: Captain America – Civil War, Spider-Man – Homecoming, Spider-Man – Far From Home_  
_Setting:_ in alternate universe, in which the events divert from canon before the events of _Spider-Man – Homecoming_  
Tags: Implied/Referenced character death, temporary major character death, implied/referenced suicide attempt, kidnapping, implied/referenced drug abuse, violence, panic attacks, Language, Adoption, Hurt/Comfort  
_Author's Note:_ This is the last installment in this series. It’s been a fun ride! I can’t even tell you why it took so long to write this, but I hope that the wait is worth it. Thank you for all your support and all the comments I have received for this series. Each of them made my day!  
_Beta:_ I would probably still despair over plot points without shoyzz-art and mogoona’s cheerleading, support and beta work. Thanks 3000, you guys!
> 
> **Additional notes:** I strongly recommend to read the previous parts to be able to understand this installment. You don't need to know them in detail, but a lot of previous plot points will be mentioned.  
This story is finalised with a wordcount of about 84k. Posting will be twice a week.  
Additional characters will be added to the tags later on to keep an element of surprise, but all warning tags are complete - no surprises there. Please heed them accordingly!

The first thing Peter noticed was that he couldn’t see Queens, even though he was looking in the right direction. He couldn’t even see Queensboro Bridge. 

He knew, logically, that they were straight ahead, somewhere, but Manhattan seemed to stretch on forever from where he was standing, buildings nestled together in a chaotic patchwork of old and new, high and low, glass and concrete and brownstone, Central Park a sliver of green among the many hues of grey, silver and red. The streets cut valleys into the chaos, pathways for cars and trucks and bikes and people to get wherever they needed to go. They seemed small from his vantage point standing at the panoramic windows of an empty room on the sixtieth floor. 

“This bedroom has a walk-in closet, its own bathroom and its own little terrace. It’s smaller than the master bedroom but the view is stunning, especially when the sun sets. I think this would be the ideal room for a teenager or young adult.” The realtor, Lucy, smiled at Peter then and he answered with a quick smile of his own before turning away slowly to walk towards the back of the room, where the walk-in closet and the bathroom were tucked away behind a frosted glass wall.

Tony was perusing the brochure Lucy’s assistant Dana had handed them during the elevator ride up here, one hand tucked into the pocket of his suit pants. He had pushed his sunglasses up into his dark hair, an AC/DC shirt clashing fashionably with the suit jacket he wore. “When would we be able to move in?”

“Immediately, if you wish. However, some of the amenities are not open for business before late August. Currently, only the fitness center and the children’s activity space are available.” She turned to leave the bedroom and Tony followed her, their voices drifting away along with the click-clacking of her high heels on the wooden floors. 

Peter didn’t follow them. Instead, he approached the door leading out onto the terrace and opened it carefully, stepping through. 

It would still be a while before the sun would set, the warmth it had brought would probably linger for a while longer on the dark wood paneling of the terrace. As the rest of the penthouse, the area was immaculately clean but empty, awaiting the occupants to leave traces of life. Peter turned his face towards the sun and breathed in. Summer had started off with great weather this year and the school holidays were just around the corner. As was the Mini-Stark Expo which Peter had helped organize over the last couple of months. 

As was the anniversary of May’s death.

“Mr. Stark.”

Sometimes, it was hard to believe that a year had passed already since that night. Other times, it felt like so much more time had gone by.

“Mr. Stark.”

Sometimes, Peter felt like he shouldn’t be as happy as he was now. Other times, he was glad he could finally laugh and joke without feeling guilty, that he could think of May and Ben without tears pressing against the corners of his eyes.

He tried to remember how long it had taken him to work through his parents’ deaths and he came up empty. He only knew that sleeping on his own had been hard at first. He’d run into Ben and May’s bedroom countless times in the first few months, hysterical after a nightmare, scared that May and Ben, too, had died. He’d slept in their bed a lot, cradled in May’s arms with Ben’s chest solid against his back and the triceratops plushy he’d carried around everywhere serving as a pillow.

“Mr. Stark.” A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, turning to Dana, who gave an embarrassed smile. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He shook the memories off, clearing his throat. “It’s fine,” he replied. “Just … not used to it yet.”

She gestured towards the door. “Lucy is about to show the gallery. Would you like to join?”

The gallery, as it turned out, was taking up the part of the penthouse not dedicated to the bedrooms, and housed the kitchen, dining area and living room in an open-plan layout which was surrounded by panoramic windows, sunlight warming the wooden floor and the white walls. There was another terrace connected to the gallery, which was easily as big as the apartment Peter had shared with May. 

It was easy to see that Tony loved the space. Peter would have been surprised if that hadn’t been the case. Tony loved modern apartments with open-plan layouts. The less walls, the better. He looked at Peter once they’d crossed the length of the gallery, putting an arm around his shoulders with a wide grin lighting up his dark eyes. “What do you think?”

“It’s …” Peter looked around, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It’s great.” He wasn’t even lying. The penthouse was beautiful. It was smaller than the one they currently shared in Avengers Tower, but it had everything they needed, _and_ they could make the space truly their own. 

It was a fresh start. Not being able to see Queens shouldn’t matter. 

“How much?” Tony asked Lucy and she handed him a piece of paper. 

But, strangely, it mattered a lot.

***

By the time Tony pulled out of the garage and into traffic, rush hour was in full swing.

Tony sighed deeply as they crawled forwards to cross an intersection, coming to a stand-still soon after. He took the sunglasses out of his hair and folded them into his breast pocket. “You better text Pepper to tell her we might be late.” 

Peter pulled his backpack up onto his lap and got his phone out, noting that he had received several messages from Ned during the viewing. He opened his chat with Pepper first, though, typing out a quick message.

_Sorry, stuck in traffic. :( _

Then he switched to his chat with Ned. 

_Dude, bad news about Friday. _  
_Abraham’s parents are having friends over, so no movie night at his place. _  
_Also not at MJ’s place. _  
_Or Liz’s and Cindy’s. _  
_We already had it at my place last time, so I thought, maybe we could meet up at yours? _  
_That would be AWESOME, dude. _

An answer from Pepper appeared at the top of the display. 

_I’m already at the restaurant. I told him you wouldn’t be able to make it in time coming from Tribeca. _

Peter smiled. “Pepper says she told you so.”

Tony huffed a breath, fiddling with his tie. “She isn’t _always_ right,” he muttered.

“Is that the answer you want me to send?”

Tony gave him an exasperated look. Peter chuckled and sent Pepper three laughing emojis. The light in front of them turned red. Tony sped up just enough not to have to stop.

“I saw that,” Peter said.

“Yes, and you will not do this when you drive. Do as I say, not as I do.” He stopped at the next red light, his eyes finding Peter’s. “You okay? You seemed a bit distracted during the tour.”

Peter considered mentioning the penthouse’s distance to Queens, but even in his own head, it sounded ridiculous. So he just shrugged. “I’m fine.” 

Tony huffed a breath. “I hate it when you do that.”

Peter brushed his thumb over the display of his phone, staring straight ahead. The distance to Queens didn’t matter, he repeated to himself several times. Tony didn’t need to know.

“Is it about the announcement?”

Now, Peter turned his head to look at Tony. _‘Is it?’_ he wondered. Actually, it was possible. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I guess.” 

Tony’s expression softened. “You know, you don’t have to do a thing. It’s just going to be posted on the Stark Industries website. No press conference, no interviews-”

“I know.” Peter gave a tight smile. “I’m just …” He released a breath. “Dana called me ‘Mr. Stark’ and I didn’t even realize she was talking to me.”

Peter could tell that Tony tried to keep his expression neutral, but a small wince flickered across his features. “I’m sorry, that was my bad. I should have made it clear-”

“No, it’s fine.” He smiled reassuringly and looked out the windshield again. “Really. She made an assumption and she wasn’t … it’s not unreasonable to assume I’d go by your name. Won’t be the last time this happens.”

Tony’s hand went to the nape of Peter’s neck, squeezing gently. “Mr. Parker-Stark,” he said, his voice so fond and warm that Peter turned towards him, offering a smile of his own at the sight of Tony’s happy grin. 

The adoption had gone through a week ago. Tony and Peter had not exactly been keeping it a secret since then. Their small extended family was already aware, so were Peter’s friends and the school administration. However, the official announcement from Stark Industries would only be made the next day on the company’s website, with Tony and Pepper expecting the public interest to peak again as a result. 

While Peter was happy about the adoption, he dreaded the next few days just a bit. He didn’t like to be at the center of attention. It wasn’t just the paparazzi, either. All kinds of people eager to snap a picture of him doing the most mundane of things were just as bad, and even worse were those who thought it was okay to invade his personal space. It bothered him because he didn’t think he’d ever done anything which warranted the attention, which caused him to avoid going out alone, feeling more confident when he was with Tony or Pepper, who handled those kinds of situation with professional calm, or his friends, who were always ready to shield him when necessary. Especially MJ, who turned out to be a fantastic bodyguard. 

Remembering Ned’s messages, Peter cleared his throat. “Tony, about that movie night on Friday?”

The light turned green and Tony pulled his hand back, crossing the intersection just to end up at another red light. “Yes?” 

“We can’t do it at Abraham’s place anymore. And everyone else kinda had their turn already, so Ned’s asking whether we could have it … at our place?”

Tony looked at him for a second before turning his attention back to the street. “At the penthouse?” 

“Our place, yes,” Peter replied. “My room, to be exact.”

Tony sped up slowly when the light changed, turning into a street with less traffic. “Would that mean I finally get to meet your friends?”

“You know my friends.”

“I know Ned.”

Coming to think of it, that was true. Except for Ned, none of Peter’s friends had officially met Tony yet. That was definitely going to be interesting. After all, despite being currently not on active duty, Tony was still Iron Man. A certified Avenger. Peter knew at least one person in his group of friends who would consider this to be a big deal. Abraham had been an Iron Man fan for years. “Is that a yes?”

“You don’t even have to ask, kid,” Tony answered. 

“Cool, thanks.” Peter tapped out a thumbs-up emoji and sent it to Ned when Tony pulled up in front of the restaurant. 

“You know what we should do?” he said as he turned off the engine and checked himself in the rearview mirror, fiddling with his hair. “We should order from that catering company that always does the Stark Industries events. They make great appetizers.”

Peter stared at him in disbelief. “We are _not_ ordering luxury appetizers for a movie night.” 

They got out of the car, Peter leaving the backpack behind, but pocketing his phone and stretching to snag a dark denim blazer from the backseat, which he shrugged on over the dress shirt he was wearing. Tony handed the valet his car keys and draped an arm around Peter’s shoulders as he led him to the door. “Pizza it is,” he answered, frowning thoughtfully. “Now, I just need to decide on an outfit.”

Peter laughed. “You know they’re coming to see _me_, right?”

“I want to make a good impression,” Tony answered. “Be the cool dad, you know?”

“Never gonna happen,” Peter answered, yelping indignantly when Tony messed up his hair in retaliation. 

***

“It seems like a fair offer,” Pepper said, perusing the brochure for the penthouse. 

“That’s what I thought,” Tony replied. With a defeated sigh, he gave up on his dessert. The chocolate cake was one of the best he’d ever had but he just couldn’t finish it. Not after the huge plate of pasta he’d had as a main course. He leaned back in his chair, pushing the cake over to Peter, who had finished his piece a while ago and had been eyeing Tony’s portion for the last ten minutes. 

Now he grinned at him, already digging into the cake. “Thank you.” 

Tony rolled his eyes at Pepper, who was watching them with an amused smile from across the table. “The perks of having a black hole for a stomach.”

Gentle laughter drifted towards them from a nearby table, the low hum of conversations and the smell of Italian food lingering in the air. The restaurant had been Pepper’s choice. It belonged to an acquaintance of hers, so getting a table on short notice to celebrate the adoption hadn’t been an issue. The restaurant was high-end, but still casual enough to ensure Peter, who always went strangely tense in noble restaurants, felt comfortable. 

Pepper looked stunning in the green silk blouse and black pencil skirt she’d been wearing during the board meeting this morning, but she’d opened her ponytail by now, her hair falling onto her shoulders and gleaming golden in the low lighting. Tony’s heart clenched and, once again, he regretted not having fought harder to keep her by his side. 

Noticing his look, Pepper smiled faintly and handed the brochure back to him. “There doesn’t seem to be much space for a workshop, though.” She used her fork to steal some chocolate frosting from Peter’s plate. 

“There are two guest rooms,” Tony answered. “We can transform the bigger one.”

Pepper frowned, obviously skeptical. 

“We thought it through,” Tony said, glancing at Peter. “We don’t _need_ a big workshop in our home. A small one will do. Minimum equipment, small parts, one Iron Man suit. We have the Avengers Facility for bigger stuff.”

She still didn’t seem convinced. 

Tony had to admit that she had a point. She’d been by his side for years and Tony had always put a high priority on having at least five suits at his disposal to tinker. He gave a half-smile and draped one arm over the back of Peter’s chair. “You said to use the opportunity to reprioritize. I did.” He tilted his head towards Peter, who had finished the cake and leaned back in the chair. 

Pepper nodded. “So, is it going to be this penthouse or are you looking at others?”

“We’ve seen five. I liked this one the best. I don’t need to see more.”

“Peter?” Pepper asked.

“It’s great,” Peter said, fiddling with his napkin. “Nice view.” He had the same guarded expression on his face that he always wore when he didn’t want to rock the boat. The same expression he’d had in the car. Tony didn’t like it when Peter made that face. It usually meant that he was going along with something he thought Tony wanted, that he thought his own opinion didn’t matter for some reason, _and that just wouldn’t do_. It didn’t happen often anymore, but Tony was nothing if not determined to get the instances it still occurred down to zero. 

Pepper seemed to notice as well, glancing at Tony questioningly. He shook his head. Trying to get Peter to open up now wouldn’t work. He needed to find the right moment for it.

The waiter stopped by their table, giving a friendly smile. “Was everything to your satisfaction?”

“Everything was great,” Tony said. “If we could get the check, please?”

“Of course, sir.”

“And another piece of chocolate cake to take home?” He poked Peter’s shoulder, who nodded. “Make it humongous.”

***

The announcement of the adoption was published early the next morning. A few tabloid social media accounts picked up on it immediately and the news spread quickly. By the time Peter was picked up from school by Tony, a few more serious newspapers were writing about the adoption as well, focusing on the question of what it would mean for Stark Industries’ future as a company instead of how good of a parent Tony could possibly be. Peter and Tony spent the way home laughing about some of the weirder articles tabloids had posted, each more ridiculous than the next. It was easy to forget how unnecessarily nervous Peter had been about all this. 

At least until he was standing in the Stark Industries press room just half an hour later, practicing his keynote speech for the Mini-Stark Expo in front of an empty room.

“I would like to welcome all of you to the first Mini-Stark Expo, an event centered around science and technology specifically organized with children and teenagers in mind. I am Peter Parker-Stark.” Peter paused, as indicated by the teleprompter. 

The rows of empty seats didn’t give a reaction to his words, but Danielle, standing just next to the teleprompter, gave Peter a nod to continue. 

He took a deep breath, blinking into the afternoon sun falling through the frosted glass windows, and pretended that a crowd was gathered to listen to him. “Stark Industries has brought together the best companies, universities and institutions focusing on science and technology to give you an opportunity to explore and learn.”

The door at the back of the room opened and Pepper’s assistant Alex stepped in, taking a seat in the last row to watch. Danielle turned around to him briefly, her green eyes narrowed in disapproval, but she didn’t indicate that Peter should stop, so he continued.

“Stark Industries firmly believes in the generations to come. We are convinced that today’s youth can change the world, regardless of your background and origin. Everyone has the potential to become better …” He faltered as the next words registered and frowned, looking at Danielle questioningly. 

“Go on,” she said.

“That part’s new.”

“Yes,” she answered. “Go on.”

Peter cleared his throat, flexing his fingers to relax.

“Don’t do that,” Danielle said immediately. “It makes you look nervous.” 

Trying to keep his hands still, Peter folded them in front of his body loosely, as he’d seen Tony do during official speeches. “Everyone has the potential to become better and rise above their origin to be …” He released a breath and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Danielle looked up from where she’d been making a note on her clipboard and brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “What’s the issue?” 

“I just … I don’t feel comfortable with this.”

A hint of impatience slipped into Danielle’s voice. “Why?” 

When Peter caught Alex’s eyes, he was looking at him with a frown edged into his face. He became nervous, knowing that Alex had invested a lot of time into writing the speech. He didn’t want to offend him. “It’s just … the wording,” Peter answered, turning his attention back to Danielle. “It implies that we think less of some people or think that their origin or background is something that should be left behind if it doesn’t fit in.”

Danielle stared at him. “It’s just a speech, Peter.”

“Maybe, but I don’t-”

“Just read the words, Peter,” Danielle said, her voice taking on the edge he heard whenever she spoke to Alex. “You don’t have to think about them.”

“But …” Peter swallowed, hesitating for a moment before he said, “I want to think about them. I want to believe in what I say. And I-I … just … don’t.”

His voice faltered under Danielle’s gaze. She didn’t look angry or disapproving or even annoyed. She just looked completely neutral, her flawless face set into the kind of expression she wore when talking to the press in the name of the company. She was the head of the PR department and Peter knew that Pepper valued her work a lot, but he couldn’t claim to like her very much. And he had the feeling that this was mutual.

Alex cleared his throat, then, pulling Danielle’s attention towards himself. “Maybe my original draft was better-”

“The original draft was uninspired,” she interrupted him, causing Alex to press his lips together in annoyance, his boyish face settling into a frown. 

In an effort to give Alex the chance to broaden his professional horizon, Pepper had insisted that he should write Peter’s speech for the expo. Peter knew that Danielle wasn’t happy about that, had in fact questioned the decision but hadn’t been able to change Pepper’s mind. 

Danielle took a breath and gave Peter a practiced smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Listen, sweetheart, all you have to do is stand on the stage, hold the speech and _represent_. Let me and Alex worry about the wording.” She consulted her clipboard, a frown settling on her face. “On that note, don’t make it so obvious that you are reading the speech off a screen. You should ask Mr. Stark to give you some pointers, he’s an excellent speaker. And don’t introduce yourself as Parker-Stark. We decided to go with just Stark and that’s what the teleprompter said.”

Peter frowned, a knot settling in his stomach. “I know, but … that’s not my name.”

“I know that. It’s shorter, though, and it would create a stronger connection to the company if you dropped the ‘Parker’.” She smiled sharply. “Just for official appearances, of course.”

Peter ducked his head, unsure what to say.

“I suggest,” Danielle continued, “that you read the new version of the speech until the expo and we do a test run on the real stage just before the opening?”

Peter nodded, crossing his arms. “Sure.” 

“Great. We’re done here.” With that, she descended the stage and grabbed her purse and laptop off one of the chairs before leaving. 

When the door to the room clicked shut, Peter closed his eyes and sighed deeply, cursing himself for not being more assertive. He didn’t even remember that Alex was still in the room until he opened his eyes and saw him come closer slowly. 

Alex gave a tentative smile. “I … I told her that the wording wouldn’t go over well. I could … I could try and rework the speech again and talk to her, if you want?”

Peter shrugged, jumping off the stage. “I don’t think she’s interested in changing anything.” He gave a small smile. “I mean, it’s just a speech, right? All I need to do is _represent_.” The word caused a heavy weight to settle in his stomach and he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe because he’d thought that he would be doing more than just that. The expo’s planning team had been more receptive to his suggestions regarding the program and the set-up of the expo. Peter had enjoyed working with them, had looked forward to the event. Now, it started to feel like a chore.

Alex bit his lip and shrugged. “I get where you’re coming from, though. I mean, working for Miss Potts is …” He took a deep breath, his voice lowering as if he was about to share a secret. “Nobody in my family is even close to having that kind of a job or … pay. It’s … I’m the one getting my family out of debt right now, just because I … got lucky. Knowing that … it’s a reason for me to appreciate my job and I wouldn’t be able to do that if I forgot where I come from.”

Peter stared at him. He hadn’t talked much to Alex up until now, mainly knew him as Pepper’s assistant with a crush on Tony. He knew that Pepper thought he had a lot of potential, though. Now he started to see why. “Thank you.”

Alex smiled widely, his green eyes lighting up along with his face. “Of course. So … I’ll revise it and talk to Danielle.” His phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket, grimacing at the message on the display. “Miss Potts needs me upstairs.” His eyes found Peter’s and he reached out to shake his hand tentatively. “It was nice talking to you, Peter.” 

With that, he left hurriedly, the door swinging shut behind him.

***

Peter curled his legs tighter around the highchair and took the weight of the seat by leaning on his elbows for a second, pulling the chair as close as possible to the workbench. His frown deepened and he positioned the lamp closer to the magnifying glass. Squinting at the cabling of his web-shooter, he reattached the wire of the trigger mechanism carefully as the news droned on in the background. He was almost done, a triumphant grin already spreading on his face, when the web-shooter suddenly sparked. Peter yelped, rearing back a bit. He pushed the safety glasses higher up on his nose and frowned at the device.

“Did you break it?” Tony asked. 

Peter frowned at him, though Tony wouldn’t be able to see it. He was situated at a different workbench in front of several screens with his back to Peter, not paying attention to the coding running itself ragged in multiple windows as he rapidly typed notes about Rhodey’s leg braces. The lights in the penthouse’s workshop were dimmed, making their little corner at the back an isolated island of brightness on which they could let their imaginations run wild. This was one of the ways they were very similar to each other. Working together had always come naturally to them and it had provided the familiarity they’d needed while learning to live together. Now, it was a pastime after dinner when they weren’t in the mood to watch TV and still the most comfortable they got around each other.

“No, of course not,” Peter answered Tony’s question, trying to ignore the stab of indignation Tony’s words had caused. He knew he had only been kidding. He looked at the wire, sighing when he saw the blackened edges on the isolation. “I … might have fried it a little bit, though.”

Heaving a sigh, Tony got up from his chair, stretching his back muscles while he joined Peter at his workbench to look at the web-shooter through the magnifier. “Let’s see,” he said, picking up a meter. 

Peter got distracted by the TV screen mounted on the wall, which showed a reporter walking along the shore of the East River, Queensboro Bridge rising behind him. His face was serious and sad at the same time as he said, _“The disturbing find was made by a couple of tourists taking a walk by the shore. Police has not yet identified the body, but we know that the deceased was a man in his late forties or early fifties and that his death was very likely not caused by an accident or suicide. Already, theories are making rounds on social media connecting four other deaths in the last three weeks to this newest one. All bodies were found on the shore of East River, one near Hallets Point, two by Socrates Sculpture Park and now two by Gibbs Point.” _

Peter swallowed, a shudder running down his spine. All these locations were in Queens. 

“You’re good,” Tony said, and Peter pulled his attention back to the web-shooter. He watched Tony finish connecting the wire before stepping back and gesturing at the device. 

Peter reached for a screwdriver to close the casing carefully. In the corner of his eyes, he could see that the news had moved on to another story and the tension in his shoulders loosened a bit. 

“You know,” Tony said, “at some point in time, you’ll have to admit that you’re done improving that thing.” 

Peter looked up at him quizzically.

“You keep tweaking it.”

Peter frowned. “You keep tweaking _your_ suits.”

“No,” Tony answered, leaning against the workbench with crossed arms. “I build _new_ suits whenever I feel the need to tweak.”

Peter fastened the last screw. “And that’s different?”

“I always have a workable suit at my disposal. You don’t.”

Peter froze, looking up at him.

Tony’s expression was serious, a furrow between his brows indicating that he was worried. “You’re stalling.”

“No, I’m not.” The answer was instinctive, a flare-up of the old habit to _‘deny, deny, deny’_ when something was wrong.

Tony sighed and gave him a look with raised eyebrows, seeing right through him. 

Peter swallowed and ducked his head.

Tony’s voice softened when he said, “I think you’re ready. You _want_ to go out. You wouldn’t work on the suit if you didn’t.”

Peter kept his eyes on the web-shooter, his fingers tight around the screwdriver. 

“What’s the matter?” Tony asked and shifted a bit closer. 

Peter took a deep breath to gather his courage, to try and get his point across without his usual tendency to fumble his words. When he felt ready, he looked at Tony. “If we buy the penthouse in Tribeca, I’ll need forty minutes to get to Queens using the webs.”

Tony frowned in confusion, his dark eyes narrowing. “Okay?” 

“That’s almost ninety minutes lost just on travel time.”

There was a pause, heavy and tense, then Tony replied, “You know, I heard that Manhattan has neighborhoods, too. I know Hell’s Kitchen is taken but maybe you throw your hat in for Greenwich Village?” 

He smiled, his words clearly meant as a joke, but Peter just felt irritation flame up. 

“Tony-” 

“Bowery?” 

Peter shook his head.

“Two Bridges?”

Peter huffed a breath and snapped, “Spider-Man’s from Queens!”

Tony raised his eyebrows in surprise at his harsh tone and straightened. He looked at Peter for a long moment, as if he wasn’t sure what to do next, then he asked, “Something I said?”

Peter already felt bad for snapping at him and ducked his head, crossing his arms. “I …” He closed his eyes, unsure _what_ to say … _how_ to say it. Everything he came up with sounded petulant and pathetic. He looked up at Tony finally and gave a helpless shrug. “It just … that can’t change.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully and then reached out to move Peter’s safety glasses, pushing them up into Peter’s hair. 

Peter shook his head, feeling silly already. “I’m sorry, it’s just … I don’t know, weird day.”

“The weird part started when exactly?”

Peter shrugged.

Tony gave a sigh. “You know, Pepper says that Alex is going to revise the speech. She was confused because she thought that he was done with it, but it seems that there was some kind of difference of opinion on the content between you and Danielle during today’s rehearsal.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Do I need to get involved?”

Peter hesitated, but finally shook his head. “No.”

Tony shifted, his hand touching Peter’s shoulder. “Okay. But you know-”

“I can change my mind,” Peter interrupted him, looking at him with a small smile. “Yeah, I know.”

Tony crossed his arms. “So you have an issue with the apartment?”

“No, the apartment’s great. It’s the location.”

“Why didn’t you just say that after the viewing?”

Peter shrugged. “It sounded stupid.”

Tony sighed. “So … I won’t buy it?”

Peter swallowed. “You really like it, though, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Tony answered, his brows pulling together. “But we _both_ should like it, Peter. It’s going to be our space. I’ll have Lucy look for something else. Just … be honest with me from now on, okay?”

Peter pressed his lips together. “Okay. Sorry.” He didn’t look at Tony, feeling strangely ashamed.

Tony’s hand took his wrist in a gentle grip and pulled it closer. “How is the watch doing?” 

Peter cleared his throat, recognizing the change of topic as what it was: an escape. “It’s good.”

“Not too tight?” Tony asked.

“It’s perfect.” 

At first glance, the watch he wore looked just like that: a normal watch. However, it did not just contain a panic button and tracker, it was also a minimized web-shooter. The cartridge it contained wasn’t as long lasting as the ones in the suit’s web-shooters – not by far – but it would work in a pinch to his advantage in a fight. Tony had started to develop it after the attack on their penthouse half a year ago, still guilt-ridden about the fact that Peter had managed to fight his way to his suit’s web-shooters to defend himself … and they’d failed him. They’d solved the insulation problem in the meantime, making sure that the web-fluid wouldn’t dry out in the cartridges if not used, but Tony had still felt the need to make sure that Peter was able to defend himself no matter what. 

“What the hell …?” Tony’s surprised words caught Peter’s attention and when he saw that Tony was focused on the TV, he turned to watch as well. 

A news anchor was speaking into the camera, a picture of Mayor Gavin Lewin hovering just over her shoulder, accompanied by the words: _Mayor Fraud? Registration Act Banned_. 

Peter’s breath caught as he listened to the woman speak.

_“This is most surprising to the citizens who elected him to be mayor for his central promise to implement the Registration Act in New York, which he did a couple of months ago. Today, Gavin Lewin announced that the registration of enhanced humans is on hold with immediate effect, citing no concrete reasons for his decision.”_

“Did you know about that?” Peter asked.

“No,” Tony said. “I had no idea.”

“What do you think the reason is?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” Tony answered. He looked worried. “But for a mayor who successfully implemented a registration for enhanced humans in his city to turn around a couple of months later and say it’s on hold?” He looked at Peter. “It can’t be good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this is the chapter where the temporary character death tag comes into play. Should you feel uncomfortable with that, stop reading when Peter returns to Gotham Hall. All will be explained at the beginning of chapter 3, so you won't miss anything

“Okay, everyone, that’s it for today,” Ryan said with a smile. 

The eight members of the decathlon team rose from their seats, murmuring amongst each other while they collected their belongings and left. The afternoon sun was streaming through the windows, painting the dark wooden floor a warm brown and reflecting off the glass walls of the biggest room Rochester Academy’s library had tucked away for student meetings. There was another group of students waiting outside the door for their booked timeslot to start, carrying a small mountain of books and papers. 

Peter shoved the decathlon folder into his backpack and checked his phone for new messages while he headed for the door.

“Parker?” Ryan was looking at him, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder while his other arm was curled around his girlfriend Cammy. “Or is it Stark?”

Peter hesitated before he answered, “Peter’s fine.” 

Ryan nodded. “Good job today.” 

“Thanks.”

Cammy tilted her head, curly blond hair coming loose from where she’d tucked it behind her ear. “You wanna have lunch with us?”

Peter was taken aback for a moment. Since his friendship with Harry had fizzled out a couple of months ago, he’d been keeping to himself at school. Mostly because the other students didn’t really want much to do with him. Joining the decathlon team hadn’t noticeably changed that. At least not up until now. He gave a quick nod. “Sure.” 

“Cool,” Cammy answered, a blinding smile lighting up her pretty face. 

They left the library together, a slightly awkward silence hovering between them. 

Peter didn’t really know Ryan or Cammy that well. He was just aware that they were part of the more popular crowd at the school. Apparently, they’d been a couple since they’d started together at Rochester Academy and it showed in the easy familiarity they displayed. They were an attractive couple, too. Cammy always managed to look as if she’d jumped off the pages of a fashion magazine, even when wearing ripped jeans and casual tops, and Ryan was handsome and athletic, his short dark hair always arranged in the kind of disarray that was very intentional. People like them had rarely, if ever, exchanged even a word with Peter at Midtown High.

Ryan cleared his throat, fumbling for words for a moment. “So … you said that you were on the decathlon team at your old school?”

Peter recognized the attempt to make conversation and answered, “Yes. I … kinda missed it, so I thought I’d … join here.”

“And your dad’s Iron Man?” Ryan asked, his blue eyes narrowed as if he wasn’t quite sure whether that could be the truth. 

Peter pulled his shoulders up, insecurities rearing their heads. Sometimes, he wasn’t entirely sure whether people were only interested in him because of Tony. “_Adoptive_ dad. But … yeah.” 

Cammy huffed a laugh. “I imagine it’s even harder to sneak out after curfew than in my house.” She caught Peter’s eyes when she explained, “My mom’s an author and she’s pretty much nocturnal, so it’s kind of a challenge to get past her.”

Peter smiled at her, trying to cover the fact that he couldn’t remember Cammy’s last name and now, he wasn’t sure whether he was expected to ask, or whether she thought he just _knew_. Because at Rochester, everybody was always expected to know whose kid they were talking to.

Cammy winked at him. “She’s Sandrine Meadows. It’s cool. I didn’t expect you to know her. She writes history romance novels for women. That’s what _she_ calls them at least. I think it’s medieval smut.” 

Somebody ran into Peter, and he stumbled back a step before he managed to steady himself. Looking up in surprise, he froze when he saw Harry standing there. He stared at Peter for a long moment and Peter was startled by how pale he seemed, his eyes red-rimmed and his pupils blown. “Are you okay?” he asked before he could remind himself that they weren’t exactly talking. 

Harry looked at him, then Cammy and Ryan, his face showing something akin to disgust before he shouldered his way past Peter without another word.

Cammy stared after him. “That guy has got some serious problems.”

“Looks like he fell off the wagon again,” Ryan added.

Peter swallowed, losing sight of Harry among the students roaming the hallway. 

***

After school, Happy picked Peter up and dropped him off at the Tower. 

Checking his watch, Peter saw that they had taken longer to get through traffic than usual, which didn’t leave him any time to go up to the penthouse before his scheduled internship time. He sent Tony a quick text to let him know and made his way to the R&D floors, where Gareth Olson was already waiting for him. 

Gareth had taken over as the head of the R&D department at Stark Industries half a year ago. Since he’d been working for Oscorp before, Tony had been highly skeptical of the appointment, but accepted Pepper’s decision. Knowing that Peter had had to quit the internship in the R&D department he’d started last summer due to May’s death, Gareth had offered to let Peter intern with him several times since he’d been hired and a month ago, Peter had decided to take him up on that offer. He hadn’t regretted his decision. Among other things, Gareth was an extremely knowledgeable biochemist, an area which interested Peter a lot, and a good teacher. Three times a week, Peter spent two hours with Gareth, sometimes more, depending on what Gareth had planned for him.

Today, though, Peter kept an eye on the time, since he would go to a fundraiser together with Tony and Rhodey and needed to get the rest of his homework done before that. 

“Very good,” Gareth said from where he was perched on a highchair right next to him as Peter added the elution buffer to the chromatography column. “What’s the next step?” 

“Uh …” Peter put the beaker aside, shifting in his chair a bit. “We keep the flow through and … we’re done?” He looked at Gareth questioningly.

“You’re a quick learner.” Gareth pushed off the chair, stretching a little. A few streaks of grey were starting to show in his dark hair, more prominent under the harsh lights of the small lab they were using for Peter’s internship hours. He looked a bit pale, dark circles under his eyes, and his usual smile was a little dimmed.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked.

“Perfectly fine.” He cleared his throat. “It was just a short night. Leading an R&D department can sometimes be a bit taxing.”

“We could have rescheduled if you’re busy, sir,” Peter said.

“Please,” Gareth answered. “I enjoy this, Peter.” He heaved a sigh. “You know, in case you are looking for a summer internship to deepen your knowledge, Oscorp has an excellent biochemistry division. You would learn a lot. I could ask a friend of mine to mentor you. She’s brilliant.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Peter answered politely. “I’ll think about it.” 

Gareth frowned at him. “I hope you’re not worried about what Mr. Stark might say? I actually think that going outside Stark Industries will give you a different perspective.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s not that, I just …” He hesitated. “I thought about kind of taking it slow this summer. I didn’t … last year was not …” He swallowed, his throat closing up at the thought of his last summer holiday; May’s death, her funeral, giving up the apartment in Queens, the first awkward weeks in Tony’s care.

Gareth nodded quickly. “I’m sorry, of course. Just let me know.” 

Peter nodded and he slid off the chair, starting to collect the used equipment on the lab table. “I have to go.” 

“Leave it, I’ll clean up,” Gareth said.

Peter halted, hesitating. “Are you sure, sir?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Peter shrugged out of his lab coat and grabbed his backpack and jacket from the chair in the corner. When he reached the door, he turned back around. “Thanks for today, Dr. Olson, it was awesome.”

A smile lit up Gareth’s features, but his eyes somehow still looked tired … or sad, maybe. “Absolutely no problem, Peter. And again: You can call me Gareth.”

Peter smiled at that and left the lab. While he slid the door shut carefully, he looked back at Gareth through the glass. He was staring at the chromatography column, a wistful expression on his face. 

***

Rhodey winced when he settled at the dining table carefully, his weakened leg muscles protesting the movement after having sat in the car for the long drive to New York. The exoskeleton Tony had built to help Rhodey’s slow recovery from being almost paralyzed whirred gently as he moved, the sound loud in the quiet open-plan space of the Tower’s penthouse. 

Looking around, Rhodey noticed the subtle differences that sharing a living space with a teenager brought on; Peter’s shoes were strewn haphazardly by the entrance near the elevator, schoolbooks were scattered on the coffee table and the wall next to the fridge had become home to a pinboard of all things, on which flyers and letters from Rochester Academy had taken up residence, as well as the copy of a report card and a picture of Tony and Peter in the garage of the Compound, working on one of Tony’s cars. Rhodey remembered having taken that one a couple of months ago. He smiled fondly and asked, “Where’s Peter?” 

Tony came over from the corner that housed the big kitchen, setting a mug of coffee down for Rhodey. He sipped on his own while taking a seat at the head of the table. “At his internship.”

“Oh, right,” Rhodey said, hiding a smirk behind his mug. “With the guy you hate.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I don’t _hate_ him.”

“You don’t _like_ him.”

“He used to work for Oscorp. I have a healthy dose of mistrust.”

Rhodey raised his eyebrows but chose not to comment further. Stark Industries’ rivalry with Oscorp was old news. Tony and Norman were both successful businessmen in their own right and while they were similar in many aspects, they didn’t get along overly well. Gareth Olson had never stood a chance in Tony’s eyes. Rhodey set his mug down and leaned back in the chair. “Is he enjoying it?”

“Yes.” 

Tony looked so put out about it that Rhodey couldn’t suppress a smile. “Big baby,” he muttered. Louder, he continued, “You have to bring Peter down to the Compound again. It’s been a while. I think Vision misses him.” 

“There just wasn’t any time,” Tony answered, his fingers fidgeting on the polished table. He didn’t meet Rhodey’s eyes as he continued, “Peter’s been spending a lot of weekends with his friends from Queens lately and it was more convenient to stay in the city.” 

Rhodey nodded slowly, a thought that had been swirling around his mind for a few weeks now manifesting further. “It’s weird.” 

“What?” 

“I’m starting to think you’re retiring for good.”

Tony took a sip of his coffee and finally looked at him, his face earnest. “Maybe I am.”

Rhodey had half-expected the answer, braced himself for it, but he was still caught by surprise. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t _know_.” Tony heaved a sigh. “I’m starting to think that maybe it’s okay for the Avengers to … be done, you know? I thought less about using that damn phone.”

The words hurt, just a bit. After all the effort and pain and love Tony had poured into making it possible for the Avengers to be the team they were supposed to be, it was a big step for him to give up on the idea of continuing. Rhodey knew that the rift between Tony and Steve was huge, maybe unbridgeable. He knew that Tony still hurt over what had happened and Natasha had mentioned that it was the same for Steve. It would take time for them to get back on track, if that was even possible. 

Still, giving up on the Avengers wasn’t quite the same as giving up on Iron Man. 

Rhodey crossed his arms on the smooth wood of the table, leaning closer. “And you could just sit back and do nothing if shit goes down?”

Tony ducked his head.

“Listen,” Rhodey said. “I know you’ve … I know you’ve built yourself a good thing here. You have Peter and that’s your priority, as it should be. But I don’t believe for one second that you could just shrug and trust for somebody else to handle it if bad things should happen.” Tony shifted, shaking his head and opening his mouth to answer, but Rhodey interrupted him quickly, “Forget about the Avengers for a second. You’re Iron Man, no matter if you’re part of a team or not. You were Iron Man before the Avengers were even _formed_, Tony.” He leaned back in his chair. “Besides, as I see it, the Avengers aren’t dead, just … decimated. We could recruit. Talk to the giant guy, for example.”

“The thief?” Tony asked with a frown, his dark eyes narrowing. “Who is currently under house arrest?”

Rhodey raised his brows. “You of all people should know that our past doesn’t necessarily define us.” 

Tony scoffed, shaking his head.

“All I’m saying,” Rhodey continued, “is that you’re not the kind of guy to just lay in the dust and give up. You rebuild. You always do.”

“I’m out of practice.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? What you did for Peter over the past year was exactly that, Tony. You knocked down the life you knew and rebuilt it to fit around him.”

Tony shrugged. “That was easy.”

“No,” Rhodey said, “it really wasn’t. And there’s no shame admitting to that.”

Tony ducked his head, avoiding Rhodey’s eyes. 

“It’s been a year. I think it’s time we decide where to go from here,” Rhodey said.

“I know. I know.” Tony sighed. “Just … give me a bit more time. The summer holidays.”

“That’s fine with me,” Rhodey answered and decided to drop the subject, switching to another one he better brought up while Peter was not at home. “Wade Wilson is still missing.”

Tony looked relieved about the change of topic. “I’m starting to think somebody figured out how to kill him.”

“That would be quite a feat, considering his mutation makes him practically immortal,” Rhodey answered. “I talked to Nat, though.”

Tony sipped his coffee. “How’s she doing?”

“Alright, I guess, we didn’t exactly sit down for lunch or anything. She called me, checked up on things. She’s busy _somewhere_ doing _something_ with _someone_. I’m guessing Steve, but … you never know. She tried getting news on Wilson as well. Had some success. Apparently, he was in Seattle for a job, a rescue op. He was in contact with his handler up until the day he dropped off the map. Everything seemed fine.”

Tony was frowning. “A _rescue_ op?”

Rhodey shrugged. He’d had trouble believing it, too, at first, given that Wade Wilson’s file had a startlingly high body count. The more he dug into the life of Wilson’s mercenary persona Deadpool, though, the more Rhodey got the feeling that he wasn’t that bad of a guy. Terribly misled, of course, and way too trigger-happy, but maybe not all bad. “He does that, sometimes. Gets paid for it, usually, but he also does freebies.”

“He’s a cold-blooded killer.”

“Yes, he is,” Rhodey answered, “and apparently, he loves ‘Hello, Kitty’.”

Tony snorted a laugh. 

The elevator dinged and they turned to see Peter toe off his shoes. He smiled when he saw them. “Hey, Rhodey.” 

“Hey, kid.” He got up to pull Peter into a quick hug as he approached them. “You okay?” The question was more rhetorical than anything else. Peter, for the first time since Rhodey knew him, looked at ease. Maybe it was the fact that the waiting for the adoption confirmation was over or maybe because Peter and Tony had bonded so much more, but he looked healthy and happy.

“Yes,” Peter answered.

“How was school?” Tony asked.

Peter shrugged. “Pretty good.”

“Homework?” 

“I’ve got a bit to do for tomorrow.”

“You better do it now; we’ve got that charity thing tonight.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I know. I started it in my free period already. I won’t need more than an hour.”

Tony smiled. “Perfect. We can have dinner before we leave.”

Peter opened the fridge and got a bottle of juice out before he headed down the corridor to his room. 

Rhodey sat down again, shifting when his thigh muscles cramped. “You think tonight is going to be okay?”

Tony got up to refill his mug. “How do you mean?”

“Didn’t you hear the news? The shut-down of the Registration Act doesn’t sit well with some people. I drove past protestors in front of city hall coming here. The mayor made a lot of people very angry.”

Tony shrugged. “They’re just people with racist thoughts about what should be defined as human. They existed before the Registration Act and they spewed hatred against enhanced humans even while it was in place. They just get more media attention now that the Registration is on hold.” He turned to Rhodey, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “They won’t cancel the fundraiser just because of that. Increase security, maybe, but I wasn’t planning on not going.” 

Rhodey nodded slowly, sipping his coffee. “You don’t happen to know why it was stopped, do you?”

“It’s none of my business,” Tony answered dismissively. “They kicked me out of the Sokovia Accords committee because I didn’t want the Registration Act to be implemented. I won’t shed a tear about it being gone. The last thing I want is for Peter’s name to wind up on that list. Nobody knows what they even do with all those names.” 

“Nothing, as far as I understood,” Rhodey answered. “People register, give some samples, that’s all.”

“For now,” Tony said. “Once you’re _on_ that list, there’s no getting off it. Who knows what they’ll do with it in five or ten years.”

***

The mayor’s fundraiser for the homeless was held in Gotham Hall. 

Peter had never been here before and was in awe immediately. Even though quite a big crowd had already formed, the huge space still seemed able to take on more. The hall was a weird blend of past and present, the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling and the small lamps and windows adorning the sandstone walls bathed in the gentle blue and orange light from the spotlights installed all over the place. The lights were kept to a minimum, creating a calm and cozy atmosphere for the elegantly dressed guests who were mingling or standing around the provided tables. A set of four antique columns rose behind the stage at the far end of the hall, seemingly holding up the huge oval ceiling, though they were possibly more decorative than structural. Instruments and a microphone were set up on the stage and on the corner, a large plexiglass box with a slit on top was located, which contained a small amount of money already. A bar was set up in the middle of the hall, looking a bit out of place on the ornately decorated marble floor. 

“I forgot how fancy this place is,” Rhodey said, tugging the sleeves of his suit jacket into place before accepting a glass of wine from a tray a waiter held out to him. 

Peter touched the knot of his tie self-consciously, making sure it was still in place. Tony had checked that Peter had done it up right, but he still felt as if it was wrong, somehow. Maybe because he wasn’t used to wearing one. 

Tony was the most comfortable out of the three of them, wearing his suit and bowtie as if he’d never done anything else. Which was probably as close to the truth as one could get. He took a glass of orange juice in a champagne flute and a glass of wine off the tray and handed Peter the juice. “You okay?” he asked, noticing Peter fumbling with his tie.

“Fine,” Peter answered, giving a reassuring smile. It had been his choice to come tonight. Tony had asked, knowing that May had been active in a homeless shelter in Peter’s neighborhood and that Peter had helped out every now and again. In general, Tony made it a point to rarely ask Peter whether he wanted to accompany him to the parties, events and conferences he attended and when he _did_ ask, he always made sure to give Peter the option not to go. He’d told Peter once that he didn’t want him to lose time he could just as well spend with his friends or by himself, knowing from his own youth that constantly being in the public eye could cause more harm than it was worth. 

“Mr. Stark.”

They turned and Peter felt a flash of nervousness when he recognized the man approaching them from the news. 

Gavin Lewin was young for a mayor, not even forty yet, his blond hair worn a bit less strict than people expected from a man in his position and his friendly face showing a wide smile. He extended a hand for Tony to shake as he said, “So glad you could make it.”

“I always try, for a good cause.” Tony nodded at Rhodey. “My good friend, Colonel James Rhodes.”

“Such a pleasure to meet you,” Lewin said, shaking Rhodey’s hand as well. “My daughter’s a big fan.”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Is she?” 

“Yes, she wanted a War Machine-themed party for her fourth birthday.”

Rhodey laughed but Peter could see that he was slightly flustered. 

Putting a hand on Peter’s back, Tony continued, “This is my son, Peter.”

“Of course,” Lewin said. He shook Peter’s hand, his grip firm and warm. “Congratulations on the adoption.” 

“Thank you,” Peter answered politely.

“I heard you’re going to speak at the expo?”

Peter nodded.

“I’m looking forward to that.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Are you going to be there?”

“Of course.” 

Peter forced a smile. Somehow, he’d thought that the opening of the expo would be visited by families and teenagers only. He hadn’t even considered that people like the mayor might be there. He should probably ask Danielle for a guest list. 

Lewin seemed to notice his uneasiness and winked at Peter. “No need to be scared.”

“Is it that obvious?”

He grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”

Tony laughed and put an arm around Peter’s shoulders, partly probably in an attempt to get Lewin’s attention back on himself. Peter appreciated that. Tony squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. “He’s still working on his poker face.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to need it soon enough,” Lewin answered, and a touch of sorrow crept onto his face. He looked at Tony. “Mr. Stark, I was wondering whether we can talk sometime next week.”

Tony frowned. “Talk?” 

“Strictly business-related. I’m sure you’ve seen the news.”

Tony nodded. Peter had as well and now, he noticed the man in a black suit standing a couple of steps away. He didn’t interact with anybody, his eyes wandering over the crowd of people nearby. His head tilted slightly to the side and when Peter focused, he could hear the crackle of a radio. The man turned his head and Peter saw that he was wearing an earpiece. A bodyguard. 

It made sense for the mayor to be accompanied by one, of course, but Peter had also noticed the police officers and cars outside the hall, holding a crowd of protestors at bay, who had been chanting for the Registration Act to be reactivated, holding signs that read _Humans before Inhumans_ or _Protect NY’s citizens_. The mayor probably needed more protection than usual right now.

Lewin stepped closer and lowered his voice a bit, though Peter doubted that anybody but them could hear him over the buzz of conversations going on around them. “I want the Registration up and running again as soon as possible and I feel like you can help with that.”

Tony’s hand on Peter’s shoulder tightened fractionally. “I told you before-”

“I know,” Lewin interrupted him, urgency coloring his voice. Peter caught Rhodey frowning. Lewin took a deep breath. “I know what you said but, please … this is about something else.” He stared at Tony firmly, his dark eyes pleading. 

Tony huffed a breath and sighed. “Fine. Have somebody call my office for an appointment.”

“Thank you.”

“One hour.”

“That’s all I need.” He smiled at them all and then moved on to the next group, his bodyguard following.

“_That_ was interesting,” Rhodey said, sipping his wine. 

Tony hummed in agreement. 

The party became a bit of a blur afterwards. Lewin held a speech about the homeless shelters they were going to support with the money they’d collect this evening and a band started to play covers of popular songs, but the volume remained low enough that it was just background music. Tony and Rhodey split up and Peter followed Tony around for a bit. They met Pepper, who talked to them for a few minutes before going to find Norman. Peter noticed Tony looking after her and then pretended that he hadn’t when Tony pasted on a smile for him. He was introduced to more people than he could remember, most of them commenting on the successful adoption. Peter tried to listen to what they were talking about, but he got bored after a while and veered away from Tony just before eleven to walk around on his own for a bit. He knew they would probably leave soon since he had school the next day, and he was almost relieved. The many voices talking and laughing caused a buzzing headache and he felt tired. 

He took possession of a standing table near the stage, listening to the music for a little while and watching people put money into the plexiglass box. 

Then, he noticed Harry. 

He was leaning against the wall near the speakers, just out of sight from most of the room and he was swaying, looking as if he’d keel over any second. Then he slipped behind the stage, out of sight behind the dark-blue backdrop. 

Peter hesitated. 

He knew that Harry would react badly if he found out that Peter was coming after him. He also knew that Harry’s problems really weren’t his business. Not anymore. But Harry had looked pale, deathly sick, and Peter’s concern won over. He left his glass on the table and made sure nobody paid him any mind before rounding the stage to slip behind it. The area was empty, only some cables running over the floor and a light board tucked away in a corner. Harry was standing at the back wall, his hands braced against the stone as he was leaning forward, his shaking arms barely able to support him. 

Peter swallowed and asked carefully, “Are you okay?”

Harry turned his head, startled, and stared at him, his dark eyes widening in disbelief … and then narrowing in anger. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”

Peter hesitated, then took a few steps closer. “Should I get one of the medics, Harry?”

“No,” Harry snapped. “You shouldn’t. Fuck off, this is none of your business.” He swayed as he pushed off the wall and his face lost another few shades of color.

Shaking his head, Peter reached out a hand to steady him. “Harry, you’re not well.” 

Harry tried to brush past him, but Peter grabbed his arm, exerting just a bit of his enhanced strength. Harry stared at him. He almost seemed a bit surprised.

“Please, you’re getting worse. You need to stop taking those pills.” 

Harry laughed but there was no joy in it. “I’m way past the pills.”

“Harry,” Peter whispered … and faltered. He didn’t know what else to say.

Harry scoffed. “Don’t pretend you care.”

“I’m not pretending.”

“You barely spoke two words with me in the last few weeks.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “What? _You_ were the one who pushed me away.”

Harry pulled against his grip and Peter let him go, watching Harry head for the side of the stage to return to the crowd. He followed him, reaching him when they were just barely in sight of the party. “You have to tell someone. You have to tell your dad.”

“Why?” 

“He can help.”

“Help me with what, huh?” Harry asked sharply, turning back around and getting close enough for Peter to rear back, startled. “This is _his_ fault.”

Peter shook his head. “You don’t mean that.”

“God, when will you understand,” Harry asked, grabbing the lapels of Peters suit jack, “that he’s the _worst_?”

Peter looked at him; the pale face, the reddened eyes and the sheen of cold sweat on his forehead. “You need help, Harry.”

“What’s going on here?” somebody asked, and they turned. Norman Osborn stood before them, his face set into a frown. “Harry?” Harry didn’t answer, so Norman’s dark eyes bore into Peter’s and once again, he realized where Harry’s fear of Norman was stemming from. Norman was a tall man, broad-shouldered and intimidating in a subtle, quiet way. “Peter?”

Peter swallowed. He knew he had to say something. He knew this was his opportunity to get help for Harry, to make things right. Despite Norman’s anger, despite Harry’s hate … he opened his mouth to answer … but a high-pitched scream echoing through the hall interrupted him. Then more screams followed and then a loud booming voice yelled over them, “Everybody down, now!” 

Peter could see some people obeying immediately, men clutching their wives and girlfriends close to them as they got on their knees. Others remained standing, looking around in confusion. The band stopped playing abruptly, all of them getting to their knees. They were probably able to see what was going on from their heightened position on the stage. 

Peter looked around for Tony. Remembering that he’d last seen him near the entrance to the hall – near the source of the first screams and the loud voice – he started to push through the crowd, shaking off Norman’s hand as he grabbed Peter’s arm. “No, Peter, stay here.” 

Some people started to run for the emergency exit near the stage, away from the main entrance, getting in Peter’s way as he shouldered through them. There was a loud sound, like metal hitting metal and a blinding light, more people screaming. 

“If you don’t kneel down right this second, you’ll get the same treatment!” 

Peter was pushed aside, slamming into the bar as a man rushed past him, clutching a gun and speaking rapidly; the cable of an earpiece was sneaking out from under the collar of his suit. A bodyguard. “Copy that, mutants on-site, two men down.” 

The bartenders rushed out from behind the counter, joining the stream of people hurrying towards the emergency exit. Peter looked around when screams drew nearer, people rushing away with more urgency from something … or someone. The bodyguard stopped, readying his gun.

And then a bulky man wearing a black ski mask and dressed in a dark combat suit stepped out of the crowd. He completely ignored everyone fleeing at the sight of him, approaching the bodyguard with calm determination. 

The bodyguard pointed his gun at him. “Stop, or I’ll …” 

The man made a gesture – a dismissive wave of his hand, nothing more –, and the bodyguard was flung aside, hitting several people before he slammed into the wall on the far side of the hall and crumpled to the floor. 

Peter gasped, pressing back against the bar when the mutant just walked on, right past him, ignoring the people shying away from him. Two more men wearing the same gear were following him, pushing people to kneel on the floor, starting to collect purses and jewelry in duffel bags. Peter saw one more near the entrance and one coming to stand by the emergency exit, blocking the path for the people who were headed there to escape. He only had to wonder for a moment whether the other men were enhanced as well, when he saw the guy blocking the emergency exit raise his hand, something like electricity sparking around his closed fist in warning.

Peter looked around for Tony or Rhodey, but he couldn’t see them. Instead, his eyes caught the first man he’d seen again, walking through the hall as if he owned it. He seemed like he was on a mission and Peter tensed when he realized what it was; he was making a beeline for Mayor Lewin, who was tugged towards a side door next to the stage by another bodyguard. 

The mutant moved his hand, slamming Lewin’s bodyguard into the edge of stage. He got up again, though, turning to place himself in front of Lewin and to face the attacker. He got off several shots, but they didn’t seem to have any effect on the man, who stepped into the way of Lewin’s exit route. The bodyguard changed directions, maneuvering Lewin to take refuge behind the stage. The mutant followed them immediately. 

Peter’s ears picked up the sound of sirens from outside and he wondered where the officers were who had been stationed outside. Surely, they would have noticed something was wrong by now and stormed the hall. In any case, he knew without a doubt that the bodyguard would lose the fight against an enhanced man, leaving Lewin without protection. 

He only needed a split-second to decide. 

Peter got up, tapping the face of his watch three times in quick succession to feel the trigger mechanism of the web-shooter slide out, nestling into the palm of his hand. He made his way through the crowd, taking advantage of the chaos around him to slip behind the stage unnoticed and focused his hearing. 

He heard a scuffle and grunting, then a shout of pain and the sickening sound of bones breaking. 

When he peered around the backdrop, he took in the situation as quickly as possible: The mutant was looming over Lewin, who was crouched in a corner, blood running down his face from a headwound. The bodyguard was lying near the lighting board, his neck at a weird angle, his gun useless on the floor. 

The attacker growled, “I’m almost done here. Start retreating.” Peter could hear the faint noise of static buzzing and answers, the attacker’s head tilted in a way that suggested he was wearing an earpiece.

Lewin raised his hands. “Please don’t,” he said, looking at the mutant fearfully. “I have always supported your kind; you don’t have to do this.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” the mutant said. He grabbed Lewin’s arm and pulled him out of the corner, towards the side of the stage. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to do this _on_ stage. This isn’t public enough.” 

Peter didn’t hesitate any longer. As the mutant’s back turned towards him, he acted, throwing his weight into him and sending him against the wall before he brought his elbow up and slammed it into the man’s head hard enough to knock him out. He fell like a tree, unconscious. 

“Oh my God,” Lewin said. He was staring at Peter, his eyes wide. “What the …” 

Peter tugged the attacker’s mask off. “Are you okay?” 

Lewin was still staring at him. “I’m … yes.” 

Peter put the mask on. 

Lewin frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

“I need to check what’s going on,” Peter answered. “You stay here.”

“What? No, you should … the police …”

“Stay here!” Peter looked up towards the columns and jumped to cling to one of them, crawling upwards to be able to see over the backdrop of the stage and look at the rest of the room. He heard Lewin curse in surprise, but he ignored it. Ignored the fact that he’d just revealed his identity, because it didn’t matter right now. 

He didn’t see any attackers. He just saw people all over the floor, cowering, and a crowd at the entrance door, where police officers were starting to enter. Which meant that the attackers couldn’t have escaped through there. Peter’s eyes found the side door Lewin had tried to escape through and jumped to land first on the backdrop of the stage and then on the floor near the door, opening it and finding himself looking down a long hallway. 

He caught sight of the door at the other end just swinging shut and started to run, hoping that the police was already waiting for the guys outside. However, he didn’t want to count on it. His fingers fiddled with the watch, finding the little dent in the side that flipped the clockface open, revealing the GPS chip. He removed it and shut the watch again, tucking the chip into his suit jacket.

Even if he should catch up to the attackers, he didn’t intend to start a fight right now. Not with the reduced amount of web-fluid the watch provided and not without his suit. What he _could_ do, however, was make sure that they would be able to find the guys again.

He left the building just as a van pulled away from the curb with screeching tires. He noticed two police cars parked on the street, lights flashing, and several officers and civilians lying on the ground, unmoving. An accident had happened on the street, several cars blocking the road and people were trying to help those trapped inside. 

Peter started to run after the van, pushing through the crowds of people hurrying towards the site of the accident and threw a web at a streetlamp at the next crossing to start swinging over the unaffected traffic there. There were surprised shouts as he left the ground, some cars stopping in confusion and honking as he swung just a little too low and got in their way. “Sorry,” he called out and shot another web, finding a better anchor point and pulling himself higher with each swing, his eyes frantically scanning the traffic beneath. The streets were still quite crowded considering it was almost midnight, but Peter was finally able to catch sight of the van. He swung up high and got the chip out of his pocket. Taking aim, he dropped the GPS chip onto the roof of the van and stuck it there with a piece of webbing before he barely caught his own fall on a streetlamp. He landed on the sidewalk and ducked into a dark alley, climbing up the wall before anybody could see or follow him. 

He used the rooftops to head back towards Gotham Hall and left the ski mask behind before he approached the building’s front entrance, blending in with the other guests who were ushered outside. He looked around, trying to find Tony or Rhodey. He checked his phone, but he didn’t have any messages, so he tried to call Tony, focusing his hearing to try and hear it ring … and, very faintly, he did. 

Following the sound back inside, he hung up when Tony’s voicemail started playing. Tony was nowhere to be seen, so he went further back passing a few police officers crowded around a strange, round, black device on the floor. EMTs were moving around, guiding people outside or helping those who had minor injuries. With a shudder, Peter noticed a body covered with a sheet near the wall. 

There was a shout for a “defib”, and his attention was caught by a group of several EMTs, who were huddled around a person lying on the floor, working frantically. Opening the person’s shirt, shouting orders, getting a defibrillator ready. Peter’s hands started to tremble, and he wasn’t sure why, dread knotting in his stomach and a weight settling onto his chest. He stood there, clutching his phone, staring at the little crowd. Until one man crouched down just off to the side turned his head and Peter was able to see him properly. 

It was Rhodey. 

Which made the person on the ground …

“No,” Peter said, his heart skipping several beats, breath rushing out of his chest. “No, no, no, no …” 

The discharge of electricity caught his ears and Tony’s chest – it was _Tony_ – arched off the floor … and it felt as if the shock had hit Peter instead of Tony because he was moving all of a sudden, walking, then rushing, his face feeling hot and his hands feeling cold and an awful beeping sounding in his ears and his sight blurring. 

That was the moment Rhodey looked up and saw him. 

He moved quickly, getting to his feet, and his arms caught Peter just as he was about to fall to his knees next to Tony, turning him away and blocking his view with his chest. “No, kid, don’t look.”

But he had already looked. 

It was Tony who was lying on the floor with his eyes closed and his hands lax. Tony who was looking way too pale. Tony who was surrounded by paramedics forcing his heart back into a healthy rhythm with electricity. 

Failing, failing, failing … 

Peter wailed then, the sound muffled by the suit jacket his face was pressed into, strong arms around him and a sturdy shoulder supporting him. 

And Peter had left Tony when he’d needed him. 

He’d left him, he’d _left_ him, he’d left him to die. 

Just like May. Just like Ben. 

“It’s going to be okay,” Rhodey said, but his voice shaky. “He’s going to be okay.”

The sound of another shock and Tony’s body spasming. The sound of Rhodey’s breathing. Peter clung to Rhodey, whispering Tony’s name against his chest like a prayer, his eyes closed tight, and his cheeks wet as they waited. And waited. 

And waited.


	3. Chapter 3

The hospital’s Emergency Room was relatively quiet at this time of night, so Happy and Pepper had no trouble finding Rhodey and Peter tucked away in one corner. “Rhodey,” Pepper said as she hurried towards them and Rhodey got up to meet her halfway. Some of the people seated around the area looked at Pepper curiously and she pulled her dark summer coat closed to hide the midnight blue dress she’d donned for the fundraiser. Happy had driven her here straight from Gotham Hall as soon as Rhodey had called, and told her that Tony was in the hospital following the attack. She tried to keep her worry at bay, not entirely sure yet how bad it was, but the tight lines around Rhodey’s eyes already told her that it couldn’t be a minor injury. 

Rhodey looked at her and then Happy, the worry in his expression softening a bit. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Pepper smiled reassuringly. “We’re fine. We were just leaving when it happened. We must have walked right past them as they came in.” She looked around, her eyes settling on Peter, who was sitting in a chair in the very corner, his hands tight around the armrests and his eyes rigidly trained on the door doctors came through to talk to the various relatives gathered around. 

Happy stepped closer, concern etched into his face. “What happened?”

“They went straight for Tony,” Rhodey said softly, probably to avoid Peter overhearing them. “I think they took him out first because they didn’t want him to interfere. One of the guys …” He swallowed, his voice lowering even further. “He punched him in the chest, there was some kind of … discharge.” 

Pepper’s eyes widened and she felt her heart skip a beat. The removal of the arc reactor from Tony’s chest had gone over without a hitch, but years of it being buried in his ribcage hadn’t left Tony’s body unaffected. He was fine, aside from the odd twinge of pain here or there, but his heart and lungs weren’t the strongest anymore, his sternum permanently damaged. Being punched in the chest was bad enough under these circumstances, but if Tony had been electrocuted … Happy looked as scared as Pepper felt. 

Rhodey shook his head, apparently realizing what they were thinking. “His ribcage is fine, no broken bones, but the electric shock caused trouble for Tony’s heart. He managed to hold on for a little while but … thankfully, it got only really bad after those guys were already gone. The EMTs could take care of him immediately.” He paused. “They had to shock him, though.”

Pepper swallowed. “How is he?”

“We don’t know. We didn’t ride with the ambulance and they haven’t come out yet to say.” Rhodey cleared his throat. “I’m taking it as a good sign at the moment.”

Happy nodded slowly. “How’s Pete?”

“Shaken,” Rhodey answered, glanced at Peter and added, “very quiet. He panicked while the EMTs worked on Tony-”

“He saw that?” Happy asked.

“Some of it.”

Pepper took a deep breath. “Okay.” Tony was being taken care of. She knew that he would want their first priority to be Peter, so she cleared her throat and turned to walk towards him, stopping in front of his chair. He seemed pale in the harsh hospital lights. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t crying right now. Pepper settled into the chair next to his, shifting closer. “Hey, sweetheart,” she said and brushed her hand through his hair, kissing his temple.

“Hey,” Peter said. He sounded hoarse. 

Pepper reached down to unclench his hand from the armrest, curling her fingers around his gently. He tightened his hold and Pepper squeezed back. “It’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

They sat there in silence for several more minutes. Rhodey and Happy joined them, taking seats on either side of them. Happy’s arm settled on the backrest of Pepper’s chair, brushing her shoulder blades as he rested his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Pepper’s mind was running a mile a minute, thinking out the next steps they had to take; make sure that Tony was okay, make sure that Peter got home and some sleep, call him in sick at the school in the morning … she began to understand suddenly how Tony must have felt a year ago when May had died and Peter had ended up in his care. And he’d shouldered it alone, only asking for Pepper’s help in organizing a lawyer and May’s funeral.

Finally, a doctor entered the waiting room, looking around searchingly. “Family of Tony Stark?” Peter got to his feet immediately and stepped forward, his hands twisting around each other nervously as the doctor approached him. He was around Tony’s age, Pepper estimated, and looked tired, but not defeated. Pepper hoped that meant good news. She got to her feet as well, putting a hand on Peter’s back reassuringly. Rhodey and Happy joined them as the doctor said, “We stabilized him, and he is doing fine now. The symptoms we encountered are very similar to those of an electric shock. We’ll keep him overnight for observation and once we release him – likely tomorrow – he should take it easy for a few days, especially considering his previous issues.” 

“He’s going to be fine, though?” Peter asked.

The doctor nodded, giving a reassuring smile. “He’s going to be fine.”

***

The pain was dull, resting in his chest like an ache that no kind of medication could take away. It felt like something was digging into his flesh and bones and muscles with every breath he took. Tony was exhausted, as if all his energy had been zapped out of him the moment the guy’s fist had struck his chest. It had happened so fast that he’d barely realized he was in danger before it was already too late. He remembered the impact, remembered landing on the floor and people screaming, remembered Rhodey crouching above him, fighting for every breath, his chest tight and his heart burning … and then nothing until he’d woken up at the hospital. 

Now, he was lying in a bed in a private room, the heart monitor beeping an even rhythm. He felt about ready to close his eyes and go to sleep, but the nurse had told him that his family was waiting to see him, and he was determined to hold on just a little bit longer. Especially for Peter, who looked pale and scared as he entered with Rhodey, Happy and Pepper in tow. 

“Hey, kid,” Tony said softly, reaching out a hand when Peter got close to the bed. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Peter took Tony’s hand, settling on the edge of the chair next to the bed. His grip was tight, almost painfully so and his dark eyes flicked between the display of the monitor and Tony for a few moments, before settling on Tony’s face.

Tony gave him a reassuring smile before he turned to the others. “Hey, guys. The mayor knows how to end a party, huh?”

Rhodey smiled tiredly. His suit looked rumpled, the tie loosened. “He can joke. Obviously, he’s fine.”

Pepper chuckled and Happy huffed a breath. “And here I thought I could finally get my hands on that car collection.” 

Tony hummed. “Sorry to disappoint. Not going anywhere for now.” He felt Peter’s grip around his hand tighten a fraction and looked at him. Peter had his eyes averted, his posture tense and his mouth set into an unhappy frown. Tony tried a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, kid. I’m okay.”

Peter ducked his head and closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping forward. There was a moment of silence, during which everyone watched Peter, and Tony could see how he curled further into himself, uncomfortable with the attention. He looked at Rhodey and tilted his head towards the door. Rhodey nodded quickly and ushered Pepper and Happy out. 

Tony reached for the remote to raise the top of the bed slightly so he could sit straighter, struggling to ignore the way his chest ached. “You want to look at me, Pete?” 

There was no reaction. 

“I’m fine, buddy.”

“No, you’re not,” Peter said, and he raised his head, but his eyes didn’t meet Tony’s. “You’re in a hospital, you’re not fine.” 

“Look at me.” 

Peter released a breath, as if he had to steel himself, and then met Tony’s gaze. There were tears hovering at the edges of Peter’s eyes, but he didn’t let them fall.

“I’m not fine, but I’m getting there,” Tony said firmly. “I’m okay.” He moved his hand out of Peter’s grip to put it on the back of his neck. “Are _you_?”

Peter swallowed and he didn’t look like he was okay at all, but he nodded. It had been a year since May had died, just eight months after Ben, and Peter had lost his parents when he was six. Tony knew Peter wasn’t okay right now, knew that he was putting on a brave face for him.

He tugged on Peter’s arm gently. “Okay, buddy, come here. I need a hug.”

Peter shifted the chair closer to the bed and Tony grimaced against pangs of pain as he settled Peter’s head to rest on his shoulder, his hand stroking Peter’s back. He tilted his head to press a kiss into Peter’s hair. “I know it’s scary,” he said softly, “but I’m okay.” Pain drummed through his chest and he winced, masking it behind a smile as he released Peter from the awkward embrace. “Okay, I’m getting very sleepy, so I’m gonna give you a few things to do for me.”

Peter straightened a little. “Yeah.” 

“Okay, so … you go home-”

“No,” Peter said, his eyes widening.

“Yes, absolutely,” Tony answered immediately, having expected Peter’s reaction. “Look at this, you see this?” He pointed at the heart rate monitor, the IV and then himself. “I’m in hospital, wearing a shirt which is open at the back, so you have to follow my wishes. They’re law.” He brushed Peter’s hair out of his forehead. “You go home, you get some sleep, you have breakfast and then you come back here. You get to skip school, okay?”

“I don’t want to leave,” Peter whispered. “Don’t make me leave again.” 

Tony stared at him for a long moment, his heart cracking where the scars from the night May had died had just scabbed over. Of course he knew where Peter’s reluctance was coming from. He’d made Peter leave May that night a year ago and she had died. And now, Tony was making him leave again. “I promise,” he said, “I’ll be right here when you come back, complaining about subpar hospital food. I’m not going anywhere.”

Peter ducked his head, his posture tensing up again, but he gave a short nod. “Okay.” 

“Okay,” Tony answered. He tugged Peter up from the chair and into a brief hug. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Peter pulled back and straightened his rumpled suit jacket.

Tony gave him a reassuring smile. “Send Rhodey in, okay? I need to speak to him for a minute.”

Peter stopped at the door to look back at Tony and Tony waved at him before he left. The moment the door closed, Tony slumped, his head lolling to the side as his eyes closed. He grimaced, rubbing gentle circles against the pain in his chest.

“Hey,” Rhodey said, closing the door behind himself, “are you okay?”

“Fine.” He sighed. “Just not as fine as I let Peter think.”

“Got ya,” Rhodey answered, settling on the chair next to the bed. A worried frown was dug into his forehead, but he seemed calm. Rhodey always was when Tony needed him to be.

“I need you to take care of Peter, okay? He should skip school tomorrow,” Tony said. “The number’s on the pinboard in the kitchen. You’re noted as a guardian in their files so there shouldn’t be an issue. Make sure he sleeps and has breakfast before bringing him back here.”

Rhodey chuckled and patted his shoulder. “Tony, we’re gonna be fine. It’s not rocket science.”

Tony pinned him with an earnest look. “He lost his aunt a year ago after I talked him into leaving the hospital for a little while. It’s not rocket science. It’s just important.”

Rhodey’s face sobered, his smile fading. “Okay. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” He shifted uncomfortably. “What do we know about the guys?”

“Nothing yet. There’s some news coverage of the events but nobody has come forward yet to say anything official. The DODC is involved in the investigation. I’ll try and get in touch with our contacts tomorrow, when everyone knows a bit more.” 

“Okay.” 

Rhodey got up and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You just rest, okay? I’ll take care of Peter.”

***

The clock switched to 3:04am by the time Peter decided he wouldn’t be able to go to sleep tonight. He was too jittery, too … nervous. Rationally, he knew of course that the situation was completely different from the one a year ago. Tony was awake, wasn’t on a ventilator, wasn’t in Intensive Care … but still, Peter felt tense and wound-up. 

To distract himself, he made his way to the kitchen to get a bottle of juice out of the fridge. The penthouse was in night mode and thus only dimly lit, shadows creeping out of the corners and up the walls to gather on the high ceilings. The huge panorama windows making up one entire wall of the open-plan living area showed the dark blue night sky, the light pollution from the city below making it hard to see any stars. 

From the kitchen, Peter could see that Rhodey had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV still on but the volume so low that it was barely audible. Due to his enhanced hearing, though, Peter had no trouble understanding the man standing in a spotlight in front of Gotham Hall anyway. 

_“… three casualties, two security guards and one guest. The money collected for charity was taken, as well as jewelry and wallets. One perpetrator was arrested, and the police is searching for further accomplices.”_ He turned slightly towards Gotham Hall to allow the camera a better view of the entrance, which was cordoned off, police making sure that nobody got too close. The traffic in front of the hall continued as always, unaffected like only New York could be after so many strange incidents in the past few years. _“Eyewitnesses claim that four or five people were involved in the attack. They used some sort of shield to keep police out of Gotham Hall during the attack and escaped through a side door, injuring four police officers and causing an accident on 6th Avenue in the process. Mayor Lewin, who only received minor injuries, was unwilling to give an official statement at this time. Eyewitnesses have confirmed, however, that Tony Stark, who was present at the event together with Colonel Rhodes and his adopted son, was hurt badly in the altercation and unable to intervene.”_ He paused shortly to turn back towards the camera. _“Another mystery which might be connected to all of this is the sudden appearance of the hashtag #SpiderManLives, which was caused by a video shared on social media.” _

Peter’s eyes widened and he stepped around the kitchen island, closer to the TV. The grainy footage started to play in the upper corner of the screen, showing Peter swinging past the person holding the camera.

_“It is not clear, whether this is_ actually _Spider-Man, the local Queens vigilante who went missing a year ago. It could be a copycat or maybe even an accomplice of the enhanced individuals who attacked Gotham Hall. The video places this person near the event at the time of the attack. And with that, back to you, George.” _

Peter turned away as the news cut back to the studio and wandered up the stairs towards the workshop. The report reminded him uncomfortably of the fact that Mayor Lewin knew Peter was an enhanced human. He wasn’t sure what he would do with that information. The lights in the workshop switched on automatically as he entered, and he paused in the door, another thought occurring to him. If Lewin heard about Spider-Man being spotted near Gotham Hall, he would certainly connect the dots back to Peter. He wasn’t sure whether that made the situation worse. 

_“Hello, Peter,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. _“What would you like to work on tonight?” _

Peter startled out of his thoughts, knowing that the question was triggered by him not approaching any of the workbenches, whiteboards or computers. He sighed tiredly. “Just need to fill up the web-fluid in the watch.” 

He went to the workbench in the corner at the back on which his suit was spread out and opened one of the drawers to get out a box containing miniature web-fluid cartridges specifically made for the watch. He took it off and opened the casing, using a screwdriver to remove the tiny cartridge from inside and hold it up to the light. It was almost empty. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t confronted the guys in the van. He wouldn’t have had enough web-fluid to fight them. Which reminded him … 

“Fri, the GPS tracker was removed from my watch. Could you track it, please?”

_“Of course. May I point out that there is a back-up device located in drawer 17D in the armory?” _

“I don’t need a back-up right now.” A hologram flickered to life above the workbench and Peter looked up to see a map of New York, a red dot blinking in Hell’s Kitchen. “How long has it been there?”

_“Approximately ninety minutes.” _

Peter stared at the red dot. His fingers tightened around the screwdriver and his eyes found the suit. He took a deep breath and shook his head, muttering, “I should call the police.”

_“Do you want me to place the call anonymously?” _

Peter hesitated, his hand reaching out to brush over the suit’s material thoughtfully. “They’re enhanced,” he said. “The police might not be able to handle that.”

_“There are other options,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied. _“We could notify the DODC.” _

Peter bit his lip. “It could be nothing, though. They could have just ditched the car and left. Nobody might even _be_ there. It would waste the DODC’s time.”

_“What do you want to do?”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked patiently. 

Peter swallowed, breathing deeply. It had been a year since he’d gone out on patrol, a year since he’d been Spider-Man. 

_“Peter?” _

He closed his eyes, coming to a decision. “Send the coordinates to my suit.” He took a breath. “I’m going to check it out.” 

***

The night May had had the stroke, Peter had not been home. He’d been outside, patrolling the streets, without her even being aware of it. She’d collapsed in the kitchen while getting a late-night snack, thinking that Peter was fast asleep in his bedroom just a few steps away. 

In Peter’s worst nightmares, May was lying on the kitchen floor and called his name weakly, hoping for him to come and see her, help her … call that ambulance just a bit earlier than he actually had. In his dreams, she never received an answer. 

Peter had locked Spider-Man away that night, blaming him for not being there when May had needed him. For a long time, he’d thought that he would never be able to put on the suit again. The more he recovered from losing May, though, the more he started to look at the part of his mind he’d locked Spider-Man away in, considering to let him come out but never quite sure whether to actually do it. He’d started to work on the suit again, spending hours with Tony improving the web-shooters or the HUD. He’d also noticed that his body was starting to yearn for Spider-Man, for the activity. The running, swinging and jumping. Peter had tried to appease his high energy levels with long runs on the treadmill or extensive trainings at the gym, but something always seemed to be missing. 

Now, as he swung through the streets of Manhattan clad in the blue and red suit, he finally knew what it was. He whooped as he let go of the web, free-falling for a few seconds before shooting a new one, his fall broken by the swing. Somebody called out to him, some cars honked as he flew by, but he didn’t pause. 

He was on a mission. 

The HUD displayed his route to the GPS signal, and he found himself at the location pretty soon after. Crouching on the rooftop of a low office building in one of the more run-down areas of Hell’s Kitchen, he was looking at a five-story parking garage on the opposite side of the narrow street. The GPS signal came from inside the garage, the third floor to be exact.

“They must have ditched the car,” he whispered and crossed the street with a swing, landing on the side of the building before he crawled inside, clinging to the ceiling above a Range Rover as he got his bearings. The parking deck wasn’t overly big and almost empty. Dingy yellow lights threw shadows between the few cars and the concrete walls and columns. He could hear voices from the other side of the deck, several men talking. 

“… would have been here by now.”

“I’m telling you, he got arrested. It’s all over the news.”

“He shouldn’t have taken that side job.”

Shifting, Peter moved along the ceiling towards the voices slowly, until he could see four guys crowded by a van. The van from Gotham Hall. Peter’s heartbeat quickened. 

The backdoors of the van were open, and Peter could see the plexiglass box which had held the charity donations. It was empty, the top cracked open to get to the money inside. Two of the men were sitting in the open back. One of them, a broad-shouldered guy with a thick beard, was fiddling with a device that was strapped around his wrist and encased his fist with something that looked like metal, while the man next to him was scrolling through his phone. Two others were leaning against the wall nearby. One of them was the smallest of the group, his fingers tapping against his legs nervously, while the fourth guy was smoking a cigarette. 

“Tell you something,” the guy with the beard said. “I would have loved to take that side job myself. Squeeze the life out of that prissy little bastard.” He punched the air with the hand wearing the device and the round end encasing his fist sparked. Peter could see more of the devices lying in the back of the van and his eyes widened as he connected the dots. Now the punching motions they’d used during the attack made sense. They’d all worn jackets with long sleeves, which had hidden their hands from view. Because they’d been hiding the fact that they’d worn these devices. 

The guys weren’t enhanced humans. They’d just used technology to appear so. 

The smoker dropped his cigarette and brushed a hand through his short dark hair. “I think we’ve waited long enough. Let’s split his share and leave.”

“He’s right,” the small guy said. “Your friend got caught, he doesn’t get his share.”

The man who’d been staring at his phone looked up, his broad face pulled into a sneer. “You know that he could be telling the cops our names right now, right?”

The smoker scoffed. “That’s why I wanna leave, idiot. I’m catching the next bus out of this city.”

The guy wearing the device shrugged. “I’m not stopping you.”

The smoker crossed his arms. “Give me my part of his share, then.”

“I’ll keep it safe for him.”

The tension shifted, the smoker and his friend facing off against the two others. Peter used the chance to drop to the floor undetected, keeping in the shadows of a column for now.

The small guy said, “He messed up, got himself arrested, he doesn’t get anything. Give us the money.”

“Or what?” 

The smoker pulled a gun. 

Peter shot a web as if it was instinct, pulling the gun out of his hand to send it clattering away. All of the men turned towards him. 

There was a moment, during which they just looked at each other, then the guy with the phone said, “Well, shit” before pulling a gun as well and shooting at Peter, who was startled into motion and turned to avoid the bullet. 

He threw two webs, one at the guy’s gun and the other at his foot. He yanked, unbalancing him and sending him sprawling on the floor. Peter didn’t hesitate to jump and kick the guy with the device in the chest when he approached him with an angry roar. He stumbled back against the van, giving Peter the chance to take on the two others. He delivered a punch to knock the smoker out cold, but before he could take care of his smaller friend, his danger-sense blared at him and he twisted, avoiding a punch to his kidney. 

Turning around, he swept the legs out from under phone guy, webbing him to the floor by his hands and feet. 

His danger-sense buzzed yet again, and he jumped to the ceiling, frowning at the man who had tried to punch him with the device. “What _is_ that thing?” he asked.

The man smirked. “Come down here and I’ll give you a demonstration.” 

Peter flipped down and landed on his feet, ducking as the man threw a punch. He hit the car behind Peter, sending it sliding back by a good few steps.

“Wow,” Peter said, impressed, and jumped to kick the guy. “It’s got some juice.” He thought about that thing hitting Tony square in the chest and his following punch was angry, sending the man flying back against the van. Peter stalked towards him. “You hurt people with that thing tonight.”

“That security guard?” the guy answered and grinned wickedly. “No, that wasn’t me. I got Iron Man.”

Peter punched him in the face and he fell, not getting up again. 

He heard quick steps running away and turned, shooting a web which wrapped around the small guy’s ankles and caused him to fall with a yelp. He sat up to pull the webbing apart with no success, his panicked eyes looking at Peter as he approached. “No, no, no, get away from me.”

Peter lifted him to his feet with one hand and held him up. “What are your weapons made of?” 

The guy’s hands wrapped around his forearms as he wriggled to get free. “Let go of me! Fucking freak!”

Peter released his grip. The man couldn’t keep himself standing with his feet webbed together and fell back, coming to sit against a column. Peter shot two webs to stick his wrists to the concrete. The guy pulled on them, trying to get free, and screamed in frustration when he couldn’t.

“What are they made of?” Peter asked again.

“Fuck off.” The man stared at him, pure venom in his eyes. “Freak. I’m not telling you anything, you …” He paused, his eyes moving to stare at something behind Peter, his hands tugging on the webbing more frantically and his feet jerking uselessly. Something like terror settled on his face. “Oh God, no. No, please.”

Peter whirled around, ready to defend himself … and looked straight into blood-red eyes. Or rather, red eye lenses, which were set into a red mask covering the upper half of the man’s face and wrapping around the back of his head like a helmet, two small horns formed to protrude near his forehead. He wore a combat suit which was also red, the color so dark it almost appeared black, and was holding a baton in one gloved hand. When he spoke, his voice sounded hoarse. “What about me?” he asked. “Will you tell me?”

The man whimpered. 

Daredevil stepped past Peter as if he didn’t even exist and pressed the end of his baton into the guy’s throat, causing him to choke on his breath. “My friend asked you a question.”

“We bought them,” the guy whispered.

“From who?”

“A guy … a guy.” Daredevil slammed the baton’s end into the concrete column next to the guy’s head, powdering him in grey dust and causing him to scream out, “In Queens!”

“A name!”

“I don’t have one, I swear! He just has this ridiculous nickname, but I don’t know his real name, I don’t know it, _please_, you have to believe me!” He choked on a sob.

Peter stepped closer to stand next to Daredevil. “What’s his nickname?” 

The man looked at him out of the corner of his eyes and Peter saw him considering whether to answer him. A flash of indignation went through him and he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. Daredevil’s baton pressed against the guy’s cheek in warning and he swallowed. “The Shocker. He sold us the weapons.”

“Why did you want to kill the mayor?” Peter asked.

“I … Shocker told us about the event tonight and said there would be extra cash for grilling the mayor. He said somebody he knows wants him dead. I don’t know who!”

Daredevil growled. “Is that all?”

“Yes, I swear. I swear.”

Daredevil stared at him, a silent threat.

“Please,” the guy sobbed, trembling. “Don’t kill me.” 

Daredevil straightened and brought his baton down to knock him unconscious. He turned to Peter, his lips set into a grim line. “On your first night back, you decide to stir up trouble in my borough?” 

He sounded angry, but Peter knew him well enough to know that this was a standard for Daredevil. He smiled at him. “I didn’t think you’d notice, DD.”

“I notice everything,” Daredevil said. The corner of his mouth quirked up into a reluctant smile. “Welcome back, kid.”


	4. Chapter 4

Peter called the police. He felt almost sorry for the officers, as they would have to wait until the webs dissolved to take the guys into custody, which could take up to two hours. None of the officers thought to check the surrounding buildings, so Peter and Daredevil went unnoticed as they lurked on the edge of the roof on the opposite side of the street and watched them work.

“I heard about weapon trades,” Daredevil said, breaking the silence between them. He had settled into a crouch, one knee touching the gravel on the roof while his hand rested on the other. The orange light from the streetlamps below cut shadows across his masked face. “It’s not just Queens, though. They’re all over the city. I haven’t been able yet to track them down.”

Peter lowered his head, looking down at the device in his lap. He’d taken it from the van after he’d called the police, intending to have a closer look at it back at workshop. Peter had tried it on carefully. It was basically a bulky metal glove which almost reached his elbow when he put his hand inside. His fingers had found a handle with a trigger mechanism inside the round tip of the device. Apparently, it was intended for the user to form a fist around the handle, pushing the trigger with their thumb when they wished to fire. “Now that we have one of their weapons, maybe we can trace it back to the source.” He looked at Daredevil. “And find out who wants to kill Mayor Lewin.”

“He initiated the Registration Act,” Daredevil replied with a shrug. “Maybe somebody wants him to pay for that.” 

Peter frowned. “You think somebody would want to _kill_ him over something as simple as that?”

“Nothing simple about it,” Daredevil answered. “People are forced to come forward and declare that they are different. Somebody could look at the list and decide they are potentially dangerous.”

“The list is not published anywhere, though.”

“The government could access it, I’m sure,” Daredevil said, “and nothing is ever 100% secret.” He ducked his head, his hands balling to fists. “There are people out there who hate us for what we are. Or who want to study and recreate us by any means necessary.”

Peter shuddered, remembering the night he’d almost ended up being a guinea pig for a group of scientists. If it wasn’t for Deadpool, who had cared just enough to get him out of there, he would probably be dead by now. 

“Are you back for good?” Daredevil asked. 

Clearing his throat, Peter shrugged his dark memories off. “Maybe. I guess.” 

Daredevil hummed thoughtfully. “I would consider that good news.” 

Peter looked at him in surprise. “You would?” After they had initially met and Daredevil had found out how young Peter really was, he hadn’t made a secret out of his disapproval. He’d volunteered to train Peter, yes, but only because he’d been unable to make him hang up the suit until he was of age.

“Yes. And I think we should take up training again.”

“Yes,” Peter said immediately, a smile spreading over his face. Training with Daredevil had been one of the things he’d enjoyed most about being Spider-Man. “Cool.” 

Daredevil’s lips curled into a smile. “And the first thing we should cover are interrogation methods.” 

Peter grimaced. “Clearly. One look at you and he was telling us _everything_. How do you do it?” 

“Intimidation.” 

“I _am_ intimidating,” Peter said. 

Daredevil chuckled, a rare occurrence. The part of his face Peter could make out suddenly looked much softer and younger. “You’re really not,” he answered and clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” 

***

Peter quietly slid the balcony door of the penthouse shut and paused to listen. The penthouse was still in night mode and he could hear Rhodey’s steady breathing. He was still stretched out on the couch in the gentle lights of the living room, the TV now showing some old action movie. Intending to just slip into his room, Peter quickly hugged the device he’d taken from the van closer to his chest and moved towards the hallway. 

He only got as far as the kitchen island. 

“Hold it right there.”

Grimacing, Peter stopped and then slowly turned towards Rhodey, who was now sitting upright on the couch.

“Mask off.”

Peter sighed and pulled the mask off his head reluctantly. Without it, he suddenly felt strangely exposed.

“Where have you been?” Rhodey asked, a frown dug deep into his forehead.

Shifting on his feet uncomfortably, Peter bit his lip. “Out.” 

Rhodey raised his eyebrows and got up from the couch, the exoskeleton around his legs whirring softly with the movement. “Out. And you didn’t think to inform me because …”

Peter cleared his throat. “You were sleeping.”

“As you were supposed to be.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Peter replied. “So I went out.” He stepped towards Rhodey tentatively, trying to explain, “And I found the guys who attacked the fundraiser. They’re now in custody.”

Rhodey crossed his arms. He was quiet for a long moment, as if he was mulling over his words, then he said, “I don’t want to imply that’s not a good thing but sneaking out is still not okay. I’m sure Tony would agree with me.”

Peter ducked his head, his hands tightening their grip around the device nervously. Of course he’d known that he’d get into some kind of trouble for sneaking out, but he also felt that he hadn’t been _completely_ in the wrong. “I couldn’t do nothing, Rhodey, I knew where they were-”

“Then you should have _told_ me. I’d have done something about it.” He wiped a hand down his face tiredly. “You shouldn’t have gone out without telling me.”

Peter took a breath. “You would have let me go?”

Rhodey crossed his arms, his expression darkening. “Peter, after what happened tonight, _nobody_ in their right mind would have let you go out there. Tell me you made a rational decision when you decided to go.”

Peter felt his annoyance grow. “I thought it through.”

“_Did_ you?”

“They killed people tonight, hurt people. They had to be stopped.”

“They hurt _Tony_,” Rhodey said sharply. “You went out because _that_ happened.”

Peter swallowed. “No, I …” He faltered, trailing off. He couldn’t deny that had been part of his reasoning. Maybe even the biggest part.

Rhodey nodded to himself. “_That’s_ why I wouldn’t have let you go. What happened tonight made you way too emotional to keep a level head and that’s what you need the most when you head out to fight.”

Peter glared at him. “But I did! I kept a level head, I got them into custody, I even have information about weapon deals going on around the city.” 

“It’s still not okay, Peter.”

“Don’t treat me like a baby!” Peter snapped, frustration and anger getting the better of him.

“I’m not,” Rhodey said, his voice hard and his eyes narrowed angrily. “What if you got hurt, huh?”

“I didn’t.”

“It could have happened.”

“It didn’t, though.”

“I don’t care!” Rhodey looked angrier than Peter had ever seen him, his posture straight, his shoulders tense. He looked every bit the military man he was. “You’re _my_ responsibility right now, Peter. I’m in charge.”

Peter glared at him. “Well, maybe _I_ don’t care about _that_! Nobody asked me whether I wanted you to be.”

“It’s not your choice to make!” 

The words felt like a slap and Peter took one step back, staring at Rhodey with wide eyes. Rhodey closed his eyes and ducked his head, his shoulders slumping. “Listen, Peter-”

“I got the guys. I _got_ them. If I hadn’t gone out, they’d still be running around. They probably would have skipped town already.” He squared his shoulders, staring Rhodey down. “I won’t apologize.” 

Rhodey didn’t answer but he raised his head, catching Peter’s eyes. 

Peter huffed a breath. “I’m going to my room.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel, heading down the hallway. 

He slammed the door to his room shut and could hear Rhodey utter a curse in response. He didn’t care. 

Peter dropped the device on the small couch which was situated by the TV and took off the suit. He showered, got dressed in the oldest pair of jeans he owned and a Midtown High sweater, all without admitting to himself that the burning feeling in his eyes was more than just exhaustion. Only when he sat on the carpet by one of the windows, with his knees pulled towards his chest and his eyes watching the city starting a new day below, he allowed himself a few tears. 

He tried not to think about how fighting with Rhodey was so similar to arguing with Tony the night he’d picked Peter up from the hospital. That only made him think of May dying just a few hours later. 

He knew it was silly, but he was still scared on some level. Scared that he would come to the hospital and Tony would be gone, too. Scared of having to start piecing his life back together all over again. Scared he wouldn’t be able to. 

There was a knock at the door. 

Peter wiped his eyes hastily, but he didn’t answer, waiting for Rhodey to slowly open it and look inside. “Hey,” he said when he saw Peter, “can I come in?”

“I guess,” Peter answered with a shrug, looking back outside again. “You’re in charge.” He was being petty, he knew that and May would have frowned at him in disapproval while Ben would have told him to knock it off before settling on the floor next to him. _“What’s going on, buddy?”_ Peter closed his eyes, a few more tears escaping.

Rhodey sighed and approached him slowly. “So, _that_ happened.”

Peter hunched his shoulders, slowly turning his head to lock eyes with him. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Rhodey’s features softened. “Well, I _did_ kind of provoke it. I should have gone easier on you. Especially after what happened last night.” He stepped closer and crouched down next to him, his hands folded. “It’s just … I got scared.” 

“Scared?” 

“Yeah. My best friend’s in hospital. He almost died. And he trusted me to take care of his kid and I … failed.” 

Peter smiled slightly. “You didn’t fail. I’m in one piece.”

“You have low standards.”

Peter chuckled and Rhodey gave him a relieved grin in answer.

“Listen,” he said, “I got scared that you might get hurt. Not because I don’t believe that you can handle yourself, I do, but because I care about you. And I was on edge already because of Tony, so I … overreacted.” He sighed. “Doesn’t change the fact that you should’ve told me you were leaving.”

Peter ducked his head. “You wouldn’t have let me leave, if I had.”

“You would do it again?”

Hesitantly, Peter nodded. 

Rhodey heaved a sigh. “I swear, if I _didn’t_ know that you and Tony _aren’t_ related by blood …” Peter chuckled and Rhodey clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m starving. How do you feel about breakfast?”

Peter smiled at him and nodded. 

“Alright, I’ll get the bacon started.” Rhodey got up and turned to walk away. 

Suddenly, Peter felt the need to add an apology after all. “Rhodey.” 

“Yep?” Rhodey turned back to face him.

“I didn’t mean it,” Peter said. “The not wanting to be your responsibility thing. I guess … I got scared too.” 

Rhodey nodded. “That’s understandable. He’s gonna be fine, though, Peter.”

“Will you tell him?” he asked. “About this?”

Rhodey crossed his arms. “Don’t you think that _you_ should do that?” 

Peter sighed and gave a nod. “Yeah, probably.”

“Come on, help me with breakfast.”

***

The relief on Peter’s face when he entered Tony’s hospital room and saw him sitting upright broke Tony’s heart just a little, but he didn’t show it. Instead, he pasted on a smile and put his phone on the bedside table. “I hope you brought breakfast. The food in this place is atrocious.”

Peter’s expression melted into a grin and he turned to Rhodey, “Told you we should have stopped at McDonald’s.” 

Rhodey huffed a laugh and crossed his arms. “When can we get you out of here?”

“I can leave today,” Tony answered, pulling the chair next to his bed closer and patting it invitingly for Peter to sit. “Just waiting for a last check.” And he really did feel better, if a bit tired. The pain in his chest had lessened, though, and he’d been glad to discover that nothing more than a bruise across his sternum had remained behind from the attack. He was feeling fine, considering the circumstances. Peter, though … Tony frowned at him when he sat down, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes. Apparently, he hadn’t slept at all last night. “You alright? You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” Peter answered, his smile blinding. 

Tony hummed in response. “Sure.” He’d been reading the news about Spider-Man’s return to New York just before Peter and Rhodey had entered. The police had officially announced that the men who had attacked the fundraiser were all in custody thanks to Spider-Man’s interference and were, in fact, not Inhuman at all. Which did nothing to stop people from demanding the Registration Act to be reactivated, of course. Tony considered mentioning that he knew _why_ exactly Peter looked tired, but he chose to postpone it and wait to see whether Peter would come forward himself. Instead, he winked at him. “Don’t think I forgot about tomorrow. We still need to decide on snacks and my outfit.” 

Peter looked at him in confusion.

“Movie night,” Tony clarified. 

Peter seemed to startle, his eyes widening, as if he hadn’t remembered up until just now. “Right. I … I should cancel that.”

Tony frowned. “Don’t you dare.”

“But you’re supposed to take it easy.”

“And I will. I _want_ you to have your friends over and have some fun. That won’t bother me.”

Peter looked conflicted. “Are you sure?”

“’Course I’m sure.” He smiled. ”Rhodey can keep an eye on me, if it’s really necessary.”

“For the record,” Rhodey said, crossing his arms, “if you two keep asking me to babysit either one of you, I will start charging by the hour.”

“Scandalous,” Tony replied drily, raising one eyebrow at him. “We’re _family_, honey bear. You’re supposed to do it because you _love_ us.” 

Rhodey smirked at him, choosing not to answer. 

Tony huffed a laugh and looked back at Peter, brushing a thumb under his eye as if he could wipe the exhaustion away. “Will you ask a nurse when the doctor is coming in? I think I need to get out of here and take a nap. Hospitals exhaust me.”

“A nap sounds good,” Peter answered, stifling a yawn behind his hand. 

Tony smiled as he got up and shuffled out of the room. Then he looked at Rhodey, his grin widening. 

Rhodey looked back at him in confusion. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, _nothing_,” Tony answered with a casual shrug, taking his phone off the bedside table and activating the holographic screen to show Rhodey a news article titled _‘Spider-Man Returns’_. Rhodey cursed softly and Tony said, “I think you failed your degree in rocket science.”

***

“Is this okay?” Peter asked, pushing another pillow behind Tony’s back and spreading a blanket over him.

“It’s fine,” Tony answered.

Peter’s brow creased thoughtfully as he studied the nest he’d made up for Tony on the couch in the living room of the penthouse. “I think you would be more comfortable in your bed.”

Tony leaned back into the hug of the couch and the pillows Peter had gathered and accepted a glass of water from Rhodey. “I’d miss all the interesting stuff going on here,” he said, gesturing to the penthouse’s living area at large.

“That’s kind of the point of taking it easy, though,” Peter replied. 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Stop fussing.” He looked at Rhodey. “I’m still waiting for my breakfast.”

Rhodey looked at his watch. “How about I prepare lunch instead?”

Tony smiled at him. “Thank you, honey bear.”

Huffing a laugh, Rhodey turned towards the kitchen. “Shut up.”

Tony winked at Peter. “He loves me, really.” 

Peter shot him a smile, but it seemed slightly nervous. Tony pretended he didn’t notice. He had a feeling he knew _why_ Peter was being fussy and on edge, but he’d wait for him to come forward on his own. “So, what’s good on Netflix?” he asked, switching on the TV.

“Uh … _Stranger Things_, I guess?” Peter asked.

“Hm,” Tony answered, opening the app. 

Peter sat on the coffee table, folding his hands tight enough that his fingers turned white. “Can we talk first?”

Tony paused, looking at him. “Sure.” 

“Okay.” Peter swallowed, wiping his hands on his jeans. He looked positively terrified and Tony felt a little sorry for him. But not enough yet to let him know that he was very aware of his activities last night. “You know, I … I didn’t actually get any sleep last night.” 

Tony nodded to show that he was listening.

“I … know I was _supposed_ to. It’s not … Rhodey’s fault. I … kind of sneaked out.”

“To do what?” Tony asked.

Peter looked at him carefully and his face fell, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I think you know already.”

Tony cleared his throat and set the glass aside. “I do.” He looked at Peter for a moment, trying to decide on the best way to go about this. “How did you find them?”

“Followed the GPS tracker from my watch. Which I stuck to their van when I chased after them at Gotham Hall.” 

Tony worked hard on suppressing a proud grin, wiping his lips to disguise the small smile that still got out. He couldn’t be completely mad at Peter for going out and rounding up criminals. He’d known that it would get to this point again eventually. Spider-Man had slowly started to resurface for months and Tony was thrilled that it was finally happening, that Peter was starting to accept his alter ego again. “What do we know about them?”

“They’re not enhanced. They were using weapons … devices, which made them appear so if you didn’t look close enough, and nobody did, I guess. They came to get the money and valuables but … one of them also came to kill Mayor Lewin. I have one of the devices they used in my room. For analysis. They said they bought them off a guy named Shocker in Queens, but Daredevil says that these trades happen all over the city, actually.” 

“Daredevil was there?”

Peter nodded.

Tony stared at him for a long moment, at the resolute expression on Peter’s face and the way he held himself. Just a bit less curled in on himself, just a bit taller. Pride swelled in his chest and he couldn’t contain his smile anymore. “And what’s the plan, Spider-Man?”

“I don’t know. Analyzing the device. Finding the traders. Something like that.” Peter ducked his head a little, looking at Tony carefully. “And … Mayor Lewin kind of saw my face. So he knows I’m enhanced and he might have connected the dots to Spider-Man.” 

Tony hummed softly, thoughtfully. Lewin generally didn’t seem the type to just tell everyone who Spider-Man really was, so he wasn’t overly worried about that. Still, he would have to talk to him. He grabbed his phone off the side table and sent a quick message to Alex, asking him to agree an appointment with Lewin for the next day. 

“Are you mad?” Peter’s tentative voice caused Tony to look at him. He was wearing an uneasy expression, as if he wasn’t sure what Tony would do. 

Tony sighed. “Mad?” he asked. “I don’t like that you sneaked out. I don’t like that you didn’t let anybody know where you were or what you were doing. You ran into a situation you knew _nothing_ about without backup, that was reckless. It turned out well, but that doesn’t change the fact that it _could_ have ended badly.”

A little bit of irritation flashed across Peter’s features. “But I can handle myself. I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“Somebody should be aware that you’re out there. To intervene, just in case. You’re still a kid.” Tony shook his head when Peter frowned at that and cut him off before he could say something in return, “I know you don’t like to hear that, but it’s true. You’re _sixteen_.” 

Peter ducked his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“But I’m not mad,” Tony said finally. Peter raised his head, their eyes meeting, and Tony smiled. “But you can do with a little bit of assistance when you go out. In fact, you already _have_ somebody helping you out. You’ve had her since you accepted the suit. You just haven’t met her officially yet.” Peter’s eyes widened slightly, and he opened his mouth to ask a question, but Tony shook his head. “I’ll introduce you later. After your internship. Which you _will_ attend. Because I’m on the couch, I’m resting, I’m fine. That’ll give me time to set things up.”

Peter looked at him tentatively. “So … does that mean I can start to go out on patrol again?”

“Do you _want_ to go out on patrol again?” 

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Tony smiled. “Well … there will be rules.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Okay,” Tony said. “How about that nap now, huh?”

***

“Peter, did you get that?”

Peter startled out of his thoughts, blinking at Gareth who was frowning at him from the other side of the lab table. “What?” 

“Did you hear what I just explained to you?” Gareth asked patiently.

“I …” Peter swallowed, blushing when he realized that he hadn’t listened at all. “I’m sorry, Dr. Olson. I didn’t.” 

Gareth sighed, but he didn’t seem angry. “That’s what I thought. It’s not really a surprise, given what happened last night. We could have cancelled today’s session, you know?”

“Tony didn’t want me to miss it.” Peter straightened, looking at Gareth attentively. “Can you repeat it, please? I’ll listen this time.”

Gareth shook his head and shrugged out of his lab coat. “I think we need a little break, don’t you? Some fresh air, maybe?” 

Peter hesitated, unsure. They never left the R&D floor Gareth was situated in, usually. “What?” 

Gareth smiled, looking fond and only a little bit exasperated. “Let’s take a _walk_, Peter. Twenty minutes. When we get back, you’ll feel better and we can start again.” 

Warring with his desire to get back upstairs as quickly as possible, Peter didn’t immediately agree, but finally gave a nod. “I … okay.”

“Great,” Gareth smiled. 

They left the Tower, stepping out into the late afternoon sunshine. Peter hadn’t really noticed up until now what a beautiful summer day it was. It was warm and there was no cloud in sight. 

The corner of Central Park wasn’t far from the Tower. They only had to cross two streets to get there. As they passed the Grand Army Plaza, Peter noticed a group of people near the Sherman Monument, holding up signs. 

His eyes caught the words _Humans before Inhumans_ and he froze to look closer. 

There were only around sixty people gathered, but several of them were holdings signs declaring the same slogan, while others read _Protect our children_ or _Bring back the Registration_, one even stating _Mutants AREN’T humans_. 

A woman was standing in front of the group, giving an interview to a bored-looking reporter. Peter focused his hearing to hear her say: “… is in fact endangering the citizens with no enhancements. We need that Registration back and we need the list to be openly accessible for _everyone_, like the registry for sex offenders …” 

“Peter.” 

He startled and turned to look at Gareth, who was nodding towards the park entrance. 

“Let’s go.”

They walked into the park in silence and Peter followed Gareth’s lead to the path winding around The Pond. The trees lining the path provided cool shadow, interspersed with sunny spots. The city around the park was barely visible between the trees, isolating the narrow pathway from its urgency and bustle. The sun reflected off the calm water of The Pond. Peter felt his shoulders relax a little, smiling at a jogger passing them. Still, some of the tension within Peter remained, his mind unable to let go of the group of protestors. 

“Did those people bother you?” Gareth asked. Just like Peter, he hadn’t donned a jacket when they’d left and his hands were fidgeting with each other, as if they were missing the pockets of his lab coat.

Peter looked up at him. “I just don’t get why they would see enhanced people as not human.” He crossed his arms and looked at the water.

“Hatred isn’t always easy to understand.”

“What do you think?” Peter asked. “About the Registration Act, I mean.”

Gareth shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Peter nodded slowly, a bitter smile on his face. “Because _you_ don’t have to register.”

Gareth’s voice was calm when he answered, “Because I _should_ register, and I decided not to.”

Peter stopped walking, surprise making his heart skip a beat. “What?” 

Gareth turned around to him, smiling. “Peter, I think _that_ is something we have in common.”

Peter swallowed. “You’re …”

“Enhanced. Yes.” Gareth stepped closer to him. “And so are you.”

“No, I’m not,” Peter said instinctively, backing away.

“Peter,” Gareth said, “I won’t spill your secret if you don’t spill mine.” He stepped towards him, one hand raised placatingly. “I know that you are different. There’s no point in denying it. My enhancement has to do with … the mind you could say. _I know_.”

Peter ducked his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “You’re a telepath?”

“Not exactly. I can’t hear your thoughts.” Gareth stepped closer. “As I said, no reason to panic. I just thought …” He shrugged. “We were getting along well. I didn’t see a reason to keep it a secret.”

“Does anybody else know?”

“I had a friend at Oscorp who knew. I didn’t tell anybody at Stark Industries but I wouldn’t be _surprised_ if Mr. Stark knows.”

Peter frowned. “Why?” 

“Because he’s got access to the DODC server, which in turn contains the S.H.I.E.L.D. archive and … I used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. back in the day.”

Peter’s eyes widened, his interest piqued. “Really? As an agent?” 

Gareth didn’t necessarily look the agent type. He was tall and surely more athletic than some of the other scientists working at Stark Industries, but he was a scientist rather than a man of action. Gareth smiled at him, looking amused. “Something like that. So,” he said and continued walking. 

Peter followed along.

“What are _your_ enhancements?”

Peter bit his lip. He didn’t know whether Gareth knew about Spider-Man, so he decided to keep it vague. ”I’ve got enhanced senses. _Strongly_ enhanced. When I focus, I can hear your heartbeat, I can feel vibrations on the floor when somebody walks around nearby. My sight is perfect, I can smell and taste more.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Gareth said. 

Peter smiled. “It can get overwhelming.”

“That’s understandable.” He heaved a breath, turning his face towards the sun. “I’m about ready to head back. Do you feel a little better?”

Peter actually did. The fresh air and warm sun had calmed his frazzled nerves a little and he felt that he could focus a little bit better now. Gareth had distracted him from his worry about Tony … and that probably been the intent all along. “Yeah, I actually do. Thanks, Dr. Olson.”

Gareth smiled at him. “It’s no problem, Peter.”


	5. Chapter 5

Tony felt better after having spent the afternoon on the couch, just watching TV with Rhodey. Peter had come back from his internship with Gareth slightly distracted and had proceeded to fuss over Tony while Rhodey had prepared dinner. Tony had watched him carefully while they’d been eating and then afterwards, as Peter had curled up in one corner of the couch to do his homework. 

Peter _seemed_ better, his posture less tense, but there was still something haunted in his eyes and he kept looking at Tony a lot, as if checking up on him. Tony wasn’t surprised. With everything that had happened, Peter probably felt reminded of May’s death. And with how close Tony had gotten to being seriously hurt, Peter was certainly scared of losing yet another person he depended on emotionally. Tony had worked hard to get Peter to smile again, he wouldn’t lose it now. He decided that a distraction was in order when Peter put his books away and told Rhodey that they were going into the workshop for a little while.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Peter asked, hovering near Tony as if he expected him to fall and got ready to catch him. It was endearing … and slightly annoying. 

Tony settled into a chair at the workbench on which Peter’s suit was stretched out. “I’m fine.” 

Relaxing slightly when Tony was seated, Peter came to stand beside him. 

“Okay,” Tony said, taking the mask of the suit in his hand. “Now, I need you to understand that I only had your best interest at heart when I first uploaded your suit’s programming.” 

Peter nodded, but his face showed that he was slightly confused. 

“There are several safety features installed. You know about some of them.” He plucked a cable into the USB port at the back of the mask’s head, a holographic screen coming to life immediately to hover over the suit. Tony used his hand to dismiss several windows informing him that the updates he’d triggered a couple of hours ago had all gone through successfully.

“Yes,” Peter said, a bit apprehensive now.

“When I gave you the suit,” Tony explained, “I put a barrier into the code to limit its functionalities. I wanted you to get used to it first and the plan was to unlock more features over time, depending on your progress and your age. The suit sent data to me on a regular basis, tracking your activities and making suggestions on possible trainings needed to advance.” He pulled up the appropriate protocol on the screen.

Peter looked at the coding and grimaced when his eyes caught the name. “You called it the Training Wheels Protocol?” 

“Yes, I did.” He looked at Peter, unapologetic. “Problem?” 

Peter crossed his arms, his forehead settling into a frown. “That’s a bit … patronizing.”

Tony smiled. “You’ll love the names of the other protocols then. We have the Baby Monitor, the Pacifier, the Tattletale -”

“Are you serious?” Peter asked, his eyes wide. 

“Says the teenage vigilante who wore a onesie before I entered the picture.”

Peter muttered, “It _wasn’t_ a onesie.” Then his eyes widened in realization. “Wait, Baby Monitor? Were you _watching_ me?”

“No,” Tony answered quickly. “Of course not. I just _recorded_ your activities so that we would be able to review them for training purposes and in case of emergency.” 

Peter looked as if he was frantically trying to remember whether he ever did anything embarrassing in the suit. 

Tony chuckled. “You were _young_, okay?” he said, letting a bit of earnestness creep into his voice. “You still _are_ young. Maybe too young to be doing this. I knew that from the start.” He grasped Peter’s shoulder. “But I wasn’t going to stop you. I knew I couldn’t. I knew I’d fail. So I did the next-best thing. This suit … is support.” He turned to the screen and opened another file. 

A white, pulsing circle appeared on the screen. 

“And so is she.” 

_“Good evening, Peter,”_ a female voice said. _“Good evening, Boss.” _

Peter stared at the screen, stepping closer carefully, the bright light the AI’s interface represented as reflected in his dark eyes. “Hello?” 

Tony watched him with a smile. The first interaction with his AIs was always the most memorable one. He remembered the first words he’d exchanged with each of them and he would never grow tired of the thrill and wonder to discover just how much coding could do.

_“Hello, Peter,”_ she answered and there was a smile in her voice. _“I see that the Training Wheels Protocol was dismissed. Congratulations on graduating early.” _

Peter smiled in fascination. His fingers came up to hover over the AI’s avatar, not quite touching.

Tony cleared his throat softly and said, “Meet Number 7.”

Peter glanced at him. “Is she …”

“She’s yours. You can give her a proper name yourself.”

Peter’s smile grew, lighting up his whole face in a way that made Tony smile in return. “She’s _mine_?”

Number 7 accepted this as her clue to continue talking. _“I’m happy to finally meet you, Peter. Due to the dismissal of the Training Wheels Protocol, I have marked several tutorials in my database to go through with you. Should we start with the web-shooter combinations?” _

“Combinations?” 

_“There are 576 possible options.” _

Peter looked at Tony questioningly, who shrugged in return and said, “I might have had a bit too much time on my hands.”

There was a long moment of silence, during which Peter just looked at him, a strange expression on his face. Just when Tony was about to ask him what was wrong, Peter asked, “She was in there all this time?”

Tony nodded. “Yes. Keeping an eye on you. For me. Eventually, she was supposed to become your partner. Like … F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s mine.”

Peter looked stunned. “You made an AI for me when … you didn’t make one for anyone else and … I wasn’t even …” He faltered, his hand falling to curl into a fist against his side. 

“What?” Tony asked softly, tilting his head.

“I was just some random kid,” Peter whispered, looking at Tony with a strange mixture of wonder and disbelief. 

Tony leaned forward in his chair, bracing his arms against the workbench. “I didn’t plan on making her for you. You didn’t have her in Germany. I … reconsidered after I met you.” He shrugged. “You reminded me of … of myself, really, at that age. Smart as a whip and stupid as hell. And, as I said, you were young. Nobody in your life knew about Spider-Man. I figured that I would show her to you once you a bit more used to the suit and you’d have someone to … talk to. Someone to reign you in.” He sighed. “It was a no-brainer, really.” 

Peter stepped forward and hugged him. It was unexpected and the position was slightly awkward due to Tony still being perched on the chair, so he slid down and pulled Peter in properly, dropping a kiss on his head.

“Thank you,” Peter said softly. “I love her.”

Tony smiled. “Wait until she reinforces your curfew during patrolling. You won’t love her then.”

_“Your curfew is twelve on school nights and one in the morning on weekends,”_ Number 7 supplied. _“Should my calculations show that you might not be able to return home on time, I will issue a warning. Should you ignore it, I will inform Boss accordingly.” _

“It’s the Tattletale Protocol,” Tony said with a grin. 

Peter rolled his eyes as he pulled out of the hug and looked up at Tony. “Is there room for negotiation?”

Tony laughed.

“I was serious,” Peter said. 

Tony grinned at him. “I know.” He sobered a bit. “Listen, I’ll let you go out and I won’t track you or watch you. So I need you to be smart about this. No hiding injuries. If I contact you, I want complete transparency about what you do or where you go. I want you to tell me if anything comes up you can’t handle.”

Peter nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Tony smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “Well, Spider-Man, what do you wanna do first?”

Peter looked at the clock, noting that it was already past nine. He wouldn’t have much time for patrol tonight anymore. It wasn’t hard to figure out an alternative, though. “The device the guys used to attack the fundraiser.” 

Tony nodded. “You wanna have a look at it?”

Peter nodded.

“Well,” Tony said, “let’s do that then.” 

***

Rhodey decided to check on Tony and Peter just before midnight. 

The last time he’d seen one of them had been a couple of hours ago when Peter had hurried past him with the device he’d brought home from his adventure last night in his hands. Since then, the only sound he’d heard of them had been music drifting down to where he was going through paperwork at the dining room table. 

When he arrived at the door to the workshop, he noticed that the lights had been dimmed, only the lamps installed at the eight workbenches scattered across the room acting as islands of brightness. The workshop was, as usual, chaotic at first glance and well organized at a closer look. The space was shared by Tony and Peter, their projects set up on the workbenches and notes distributed on whiteboards and post-its, several holographic screens running through coding Rhodey would never quite understand. 

He found Tony and Peter huddled close together at one of the workbenches near the door, the safety glasses on their noses reflecting a strange purple light emanating from whatever they were studying. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had lowered the volume of the music when Rhodey had entered but the pair had not acknowledged him yet, if they had even noticed he was there.

“You see?” Tony asked, pointing a pen at something. “Right there. That’s an inductive charging plate, which means …” He looked at Peter.

“Somebody’s combining alien technology with ours,” Peter replied.

“Ten points for Ravenclaw,” Tony answered with a grin. 

Rhodey cleared his throat and they looked up at him, wearing similar expressions of surprise on their faces. He smiled in amusement at how much alike they looked, dark hair mussed by running their fingers through it distractedly, safety glasses perched on their noses and dark eyes wide with the thrill of figuring out how a piece of technology worked.

“Care to share?” he asked.

“It’s Chitauri tech,” Tony answered while Peter turned back to their project and grabbed a screwdriver, starting pry something on the device loose carefully. “They're stealing it from who knows where and fixing it up before selling it. This device is entirely man-made, but it uses a Chitauri energy core and _that_ makes it dangerous.”

Peter yelped when something clattered onto the workbench. Rhodey stepped closer to look. It was an egg-shaped container with clear walls, something that looked like wires within lit up in a purple light. “Is it safe?” 

Picking the thing up with his bare hand, Tony answered, “For the moment. I studied a couple of these with Bruce after the Battle of New York. They’re mostly stable, but they can malfunction and explode if not handled correctly.” 

Peter took the energy core from him and studied it curiously.

“You can take it with you back to the Compound,” Tony said. “Store it with the others.”

Rhodey nodded.

Peter was still looking at the energy core. “Whoever creates the weapons out of this must be really smart.” 

“And have access to the technology,” Rhodey said, crossing his arms. “I thought everything alien had been identified and transported off to the DODC vault after the battle.”

“It was,” Tony answered. “The vault couldn’t have been breached. I think they scavenged the ruins after the battle, picked up enough to last them until now.”

“I thought the DODC took control over clean-up,” Rhodey said. “Made sure that wouldn’t happen.”

“Not immediately. At the beginning the city hired some local construction companies to clean up the mess. The DODC only took over a couple of days later.” He sighed. “_Anybody_ could have had access to _anything_ before that happened.” He checked his watch. “Crap. Pete, I think it’s time for bed.”

Peter set the energy core down carefully and took off the safety glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He didn’t seem intent to put up a fight and Rhodey wasn’t really surprised. Peter hadn’t slept the night before and he’d only napped for an hour together with Tony during the day. “Right. See you guys tomorrow.”

Tony brushed a hand through Peter’s hair and squeezed the back of his neck for a second. “Sleep tight.” 

“Goodnight, kid,” Rhodey said as Peter walked past him. He waited while Tony started to clean up the workbench and only spoke when he was sure that Peter was gone and out of hearing range. “Is he okay?”

“I think he’s fine,” Tony answered and raised a hand to rub his chest, as if he could still feel twinges of pain there. “Spending the evening up here definitely helped. He seems less anxious.”

“That’s good,” Rhodey answered, leaning his hip against the workbench. “Poor kid certainly doesn’t need more trauma.” 

“He’s going to go out as Spider-Man again,” Tony said. 

Rhodey nodded. “Can’t say I’m surprised. How are you going to handle it?”

Tony chuckled. “Hopefully well.” He sobered, his expression turning sorrowful. “I’m glad he’s asking. I wasn’t sure whether he’d ever want to do it again.”

“It’s a step forward, I guess.” 

Tony nodded. “Yeah, it is.” He sighed. “I’m looking at more penthouses, by the way.”

Rhodey frowned. “I thought you had settled on one?”

“It’s too far from Queens.” Tony ducked his head, hesitating before he added, “And the speech for the expo isn’t sitting well with Peter, either. I read it and I get it. He is supposed to tell people that we can help them rise above where they come from, become something better than they used to be, as if coming from certain parts of the city makes you less than. They want him to drop half of his surname for official appearances. He must feel as if the company is dismissive of his past.”

Rhodey nodded, humming thoughtfully while he mulled that over. “He probably feels like he is losing touch with his roots, Tony. I figure it’s pretty common for adopted kids.”

Tony shrugged. “I want to help him,” he said, “but he doesn’t want me to interfere in regard to the speech. I have to respect that.” He cleared his throat. “The apartment, _that’s_ something I can help with.”

Rhodey came around the table to clasp Tony’s shoulder, catching his eyes. “You know you’re doing fine, right?” 

Tony pressed his lips together, but he nodded. He didn’t seem entirely convinced, though.

“It’s normal for teenagers to figure themselves out. It’s a little harder for Peter than for other kids his age, but he’ll manage. He talks to you, Tony, that’s worth a lot.”

“I know,” Tony replied, shrugging. “I know. He’s gonna be fine.”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said, squeezing his shoulder. “He’s gonna be just fine.”

***

_Peter rushed towards the group of EMTs who were huddled around Tony, but Rhodey’s arms caught him, wrapping around him like a vice. “No, kid, don’t look.” _

_Peter looked anyway. _

_He saw Tony’s chest arch off the floor as the defibrillator discharged, saw the EMTs talking in rushed acronyms … he saw them deflate and back away from Tony slowly. _

_“No,” he murmured as they got up in unison and walked away, leaving Tony lying on the floor. “No, help him!” _

_Rhodey’s arms didn’t let go of him, even as he struggled to free himself, so he yelled at them, “You have to help him! Please! Help him!” He tried to grab one of them by the arm as they walked past but his hand slid right through him. “He’s dying, please!” _

_Suddenly, Rhodey’s grip vanished and he fell, landing on the cold floor. As he looked around, he found himself alone in Gotham Hall, Tony’s still body a few steps away. Peter pushed himself up and rushed towards him, falling to his knees beside him. “Tony?” _

_There was no reaction, no movement. No breaths. _

_“Tony?” Tentatively, he touched Tony’s arm. “No.” His fingers clenched around Tony’s shirt and a sob tore out of his throat. “No, please.” _

Peter woke to air catching in his throat and tears on his cheeks, panting into the dark of his room. “Lights, lights, lights,” he gasped and F.R.I.D.A.Y. switched the lamps in the room to a dim setting, throwing dark shadows where his desk was pushed up against the window, between the small couch and the coffee table, between the bookshelves and where the door was standing half-open to his bathroom. The dim lights reflected off the windows where the blinds were drawn and barely any of the city’s illumination managed to get in.

Everything looked normal and peaceful and yet … Peter sat up and buried his face in his hands, trying to catch his breath. Because he just _couldn’t_.

The air felt thin, not breathable, his chest clenching around nothing and his throat tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying both hands in his hair and pulling hard enough to cause pinpricks of pain on his scalp. He took a breath and tried to hold it, counting to five in his head before releasing it. The next couple of breaths came rushed again, not providing anything, and he sobbed.

_“Peter, should I call for assistance?” _

“No,” he rasped. “No.” He sat huddled on his bed in the dim lights, counting in his head for what felt like hours, failing to find a healthy breathing pattern. “Fri,” he choked finally.

_“Yes, Peter?” _

“’s Tony okay?” He hated how weak he sounded, that he couldn’t get a grip.

_“Yes, Peter. All vitals are within the normal range.” _

He felt tears leak down his cheeks and started counting again. “Repeat.” 

_“All of Boss’s vitals are within normal range,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said dutifully. 

The fist around his chest started to unclench. “Repeat,” he whispered. 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. did. 

Several times. 

Until Peter’s heartrate calmed and his throat didn’t feel so tight anymore. 

His next request for her to repeat the message was so quiet he wasn’t even sure if F.R.I.D.A.Y. was able to hear it until she answered, _“Tony is fine, Peter.” _

There was a pause, during which he let go of his hair and wiped his face. 

_“Should I call him for you?” _

“No, don’t wake him,” Peter answered.

_“Should I call for Colonel Rhodes?” _

“No.” He got out of bed and walked into his bathroom, turning on the faucet to splash cold water on his face. When he straightened, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His eyes were red and his skin pale. He looked tired, which wasn’t surprising. Apart from the nap this morning and the two hours of sleep he’d just had, he hadn’t gotten any rest in almost forty-eight hours. He rubbed his eyes and left the bathroom. On his way to the bed, he hesitated, stopping in his tracks. “Is Tony okay?” he asked again.

_“He’s fine,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered. 

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. It was ridiculous, because F.R.I.D.A.Y. wouldn’t lie and F.R.I.D.A.Y. would know but … hearing her _say_ that Tony was okay wasn’t _enough_. 

He left the bedroom and walked down the dimly lit hallway to Tony’s room. The door wasn’t closed all the way and he could hear Tony snore softly. Carefully, he slid inside the room and looked towards the bed. He couldn’t really see Tony. The blinds were open, but the bed stood too far away from the windows for the weak illumination the city provided at night to make out more than Tony’s shape underneath the covers. 

But Peter could hear him breathe and something in his chest loosened. 

He stepped inside a little further, knowing the room’s layout. There were two armchairs positioned close to the door right next to a bookshelf, forming a sort of small reading corner. The last time Peter had sat in one of the chairs had been when Tony had shown him how to do up a tie. Carefully, he settled on the edge of the seat, his eyes glued to the bed. 

He didn’t move, listening to Tony breathe. 

Just for a few minutes.

***

A hand brushed his hair out of his face and his nose picked up on the smell of bacon and eggs. 

Peter sighed sleepily and shifted, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. That’s when he noticed that he wasn’t laying on his bed but sitting upright. 

He blinked his eyes open in confusion. 

Tony was in front of him, already dressed in a plain white t-shirt and old jeans. He wore a warm smile but something like concern was showing in his eyes. “Hey, buddy, are you okay?”

Peter found himself in Tony’s bedroom, in one of the chairs by the door, a woolen blanket covering him. He remembered having come in here last night … and nothing after that. “Oh,” he said. “I fell asleep.”

“You sure did.”

“Sorry.” 

“It’s not a problem. Just making sure you’re okay.”

Peter rubbed his eyes and sat up straighter. He looked towards Tony’s alarm clock. It was just after half six. He’d slept for three solid hours and now, he felt better than he had last night. “I am. I just … had trouble sleeping.”

Tony nodded his understanding. “You wanna skip school again?”

Peter considered it, for just a second, then he shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Tony said, standing up from his crouched position with a groan, grumbling about his knees.

“How are you?” Peter asked. 

Tony looked a little healthier than yesterday, a little more awake. “I’m alright,” he answered with a smile. “I made breakfast. I can drive you to school after.”

Quickly, Peter answered, “I can take the subway.” 

Tony huffed a laugh. “Please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I can drive a car for twenty minutes without keeling over.” 

Peter frowned at him. “You’re supposed to take it easy.”

“Driving a car is basically just sitting around. I’m fine,” Tony repeated firmly. “Am I not, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

_“Your vitals don’t show any significant changes compared to last night’s readings,”_ she answered dutifully.

Peter felt his cheeks heat at her words, Tony’s confused face turning towards the ceiling. “Last night’s readings?” 

_“The ones Peter requested.” _

Tony looked at him and Peter quickly averted his eyes, picking on a loose thread on the blanket. Tony cleared his throat. “How many readings did you take last night, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” 

Peter could feel Tony’s eyes on him, and he shifted uncomfortably, hoping the number would be easy to explain. He couldn’t remember how often he’d whispered the word _“Repeat”_ at F.R.I.D.A.Y. during his panic attack.

_“Thirteen.” _

Peter grimaced and closed his eyes. For a long moment, it was quiet. Tony was clearly waiting for an explanation. Peter softly said, “I just wanted to make sure.” 

He heard Tony sigh and then saw him pull the other chair closer. He sat down on it and rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Peter.” 

He looked at him in surprise. An apology was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “What?” 

Tony nodded, confirming that he’d heard correctly. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I should’ve made sure you were okay.”

“But … you asked me, like, every five minutes.”

“And you said that you were fine, which was a lie and I accepted that. I shouldn’t have.” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “It was a scary situation. I’m sorry that you had to go through that.” His expression twisted, his lips pulling down into a frown. “I’m sorry you’re afraid.”

Peter swallowed, taken aback by the sincerity in Tony’s eyes.

“You have to know,” Tony continued, “that I made sure that you’re taken care of in case anything should happen to me.”

Peter shook his head. He didn’t want to hear this. His chest clenched, his throat closing up …

“Pepper and Rhodey-”

“No!” Peter said loudly and Tony jumped, startled. Peter swallowed against the tightness in his throat and explained, “I don’t care about that. I just don’t want to …” He faltered.

Tony seemed to understand anyway and ducked his head. His hand slid from Peter’s shoulder to his wrist. “I can’t promise you that I’ll be fine forever, Peter.” He looked at him again. “I _can’t_.”

“I _know_.” Peter heaved a breath. “But you can _try_ to be.”

Tony pulled him from the chair and into his arms, squeezing him so tight that it almost hurt. “I’ll do my best,” he whispered. “I can promise you _that_.”

***

Tony’s official Stark Industries office was located on the same floor as the CEO’s office, which used to be his but was now Pepper’s. Handing the office over to her had been one of the first things he’d done after she’d officially become the company’s CEO. Many board members and high-ranking employees had looked at him as if he’d lost his mind when he’d first announced that his PA would take over the company. Handing her the office had been his way of saying that he absolutely wasn’t joking. Almost demonstratively, he’d taken the small corner office in return, and proceeded to ignore its existence, so it mainly gathered dust these days. 

Unless he actually used it, like this morning. 

Tony had been notified by Alex that Mayor Lewin was on his way up and was now standing at the panorama windows to look outside as he waited. It was raining a bit this morning, drops splashing against the window and turning the view slightly blurry. A knock on the door caused him to turn around and he smiled when Alex entered with Lewin in tow, approaching them to shake Lewin’s hand. “Mayor.”

Lewin nodded at him. “Mr. Stark, it’s good to see you up and about.” 

“I’m tougher than I look.” Tony gestured for him to sit in one of the other three chairs surrounding a round glass table in the corner, waiting until Lewin had picked a seat before taking one as well. 

Alex set down a tray with coffee and biscuits. “Would that be all, Mr. Stark?” 

Tony nodded. “We’re fine, Alex, thank you.”

Lewin waited until the door had closed before he asked, “Will Miss Potts join us?”

Tony shifted to face him a little more, tugging his suit jacket into place as he got comfortable. “No.” 

Lewin frowned, picking a biscuit off the plate and resting it next to his coffee cup. “I was told that this appointment was concerning the upcoming expo.”

“And that’s what we can tell anyone who asks,” Tony replied smoothly, “but we both know that I didn’t ask you here because of that.”

Lewin didn’t pause, clearly not surprised, and stirred cream into his coffee. “I had a suspicion.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, the cup cradled between his hands. His eyes met Tony’s. “Your kid saved my life. And he did the city a great service by bringing the people to justice who were responsible for the attack on the fundraiser.” He shook his head with a smile. “You know, I read so many theories about him that I could plaster my office walls with them. Some are ridiculous, of course, but it’s fascinating stuff. People have a vivid imagination.” 

Tony chose to remain silent. 

Lewin chuckled and popped the biscuit into his mouth, his dark eyes watching Tony as he chewed thoughtfully. “You’re not going to come out and say it, will you?”

Tony sipped on his coffee.

Lewin rolled his eyes. “Fine then.” He cleared his throat. “There are only a few things everyone knows for sure about Spider-Man: he’s a Queens native because of his accent, he’s young due to the way he talks and his voice pitches, he’s friendly and polite, he doesn’t kill … and he went missing about a year ago without an explanation or trace. In hindsight, it’s interesting that nobody ever connected the dots, because it was public knowledge that Spider-Man was discovered and sponsored by _you_. If the suit wasn’t an indication of that, then maybe the fact that he was seen around Avengers Tower frequently in the weeks before his disappearance should have been.” He shrugged. “It was _also_ public knowledge that you decided to adopt an orphan from Queens roughly one year ago. Spider-Man’s disappearance and the adoption trended on social media at the same time …” He smirked, his dark eyes glittering with mirth. “… and nobody noticed.” 

Tony shrugged. “They must have been preoccupied with listing all the reasons I shouldn’t be allowed to adopt a kid.”

Lewin hummed. “A sentiment I never agreed with by the way.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Fact remains,” Lewin said slowly, “that Peter is Spider-Man.”

Tony nodded. “Yes.” 

Lewin huffed a laugh. “You know, when I suspected him to be _young_, I pictured a _college_ kid.”

Tony smiled. “I guess everyone does.”

Lewin sobered a bit. “He disappeared because he was orphaned?”

Tony shook his head. “He was orphaned at six and he went to live with his uncle and aunt. His uncle died almost two years ago and his aunt … last summer.”

“That’s tragic,” Lewin said, shaking his head. “But it doesn’t explain why you invited me here.”

“To ensure that Spider-Man’s identity remains a secret.”

Lewin raised his eyebrows.

“It should be Peter’s decision to reveal it, if _ever_. I know there is nothing I can do to stop _you_ from revealing it. Peter’s in a vulnerable position right now, but I’d like you to remember that he _chose_ to be to save your life-” 

“Mr. Stark,” Lewin interrupted him, “what exactly do you expect me to do?” He shook his head. “I must say, frankly, I’m … offended that you would think I’d … what? Call the media and had them splatter Peter’s name all over the headlines?” He frowned at him, his expression darkening. “I also didn’t intend to use it to get you to do my bidding, if that’s the next assumption you are going to come up with. Peter’s secret is safe with me. There’s no price tag.”

Tony released a relieved breath. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, it’s common decency.” He shifted in his seat. “Now, since we’re already here and I intended to have a meeting with you anyway, can we move on?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I was hoping to get your help. Well, your company’s help, really.”

Tony frowned. “Doing what?”

Lewin cleared his throat, his expression becoming closed-off and hesitant. “What I am discussing with you now is highly confidential at this point.”

Tony nodded his understanding.

Leaning forward in his seat a bit, Lewin lowered his voice slightly. “We have an issue with the registry. It seems that it has been hacked.”

“Hacked?” 

“There are indicators that … names from that database have been extracted.”

“What kind of indicators?”

Lewin shook his head. “I don’t wish to go into detail about that just now, Mr. Stark. I come to you because you have been skeptical about the Registration Act in the past. I would like for your company to come in on a consulting basis to look at possible safety breaches.”

Tony leaned back in his chair, tilting his head thoughtfully. “How big is the issue?”

“Big enough to shut the Registration Act down for now. Big enough to discard it entirely if it can’t be fixed.” He drew a deep breath and then started to speak quickly, passionately. “Mr. Stark, this project means a lot to me. The Registration Act is supposed to be a first step into living more openly with those people among us who have enhancements. I want safety for _both_ sides, I want a _mutual_ understanding. I want to show the world that it can work, that it’s not a way to suppress enhanced people but that it can serve both sides. I know you don’t support it, but maybe that is the reason your company’s the right entity to find the leak.”

Tony looked at him for a long moment, not quite sure what to say. It was true that he had been against the Registration Act from the start, finding it an unnecessary byproduct of the Sokovia Accords, which he had supported. At least until they had decided that he was being too vocal about his skepticism and voted him out of the committee. Nowadays, he didn’t want anything to do with the Accords _or_ the Registration Act, but the way Lewin had spoken, it seemed as if people were actually in danger and Tony couldn’t turn his back on that. “Do I have time to consider?”

Lewin’s shoulders slumped, as if he had expected more. “Of course.”

“I promise that I’ll let you know in a couple of days.” 

Lewin nodded. “Thank you, but … please, I cannot stress enough how serious I am about needing your support on this.”

“I understand,” Tony answered. “But surely _you_ know now that I have at least one very important factor to think about when it comes to supporting the Registration Act in any way.”

“I’m a father myself, Mr. Stark, I understand your apprehension.”

“It’s nice of you to say that but would you let your daughter register? Knowing what you know right now.” 

Lewin’s eyes flitted away, his lips pressing together. “Knowing what I know right now?” he repeated. “No. I wouldn’t.” 

***

When Peter stepped out of the school, the rain had stopped and the sun was back in full force, gifting New York with a warm summer afternoon. Peter stopped just outside the school gate to check his messages, noticing that Ned had sent him something already a while ago. 

_So, we’ll come by at around seven? _

Peter typed back a thumbs-up emoji just as another message from Happy appeared at the top of his screen. 

_Stuck in traffic. Wait at the gate. _

Peter sighed and made a mental note to talk to Tony about getting a driver’s license. He wouldn’t mind walking or using the subway to get home, but while Tony generally liked to give Peter his freedom, he was quite clear on not wanting Peter to leave school by any other means than a car. Peter had to admit that he had kind of a point. Rochester Academy was known for being a school for kids of the upper class of New York. Many of the students were the children of influential people and thus, possible targets. The school had a tight security regiment in place to ensure its students’ safety, but this only worked on the property itself. It would be easy for someone to follow Peter to the subway station or through the streets. It didn’t matter that he would be able to defend himself, Tony didn’t want to risk it. 

He leaned against the school’s wall near the gate’s security booth to wait, soaking up the sunrays. He checked his e-mails and found one sent to him by Danielle with an attachment. 

The rewritten speech. 

Swallowing down dread, he opened the document. 

_I am Peter Stark and I … _

He lowered the phone, releasing a disappointed breath. Ryan and Cammy waved at him as they left the school and he smiled back at them before he looked back down at the phone.

_I am Peter Stark and I welcome you to the first Mini-Stark Expo. Your future could very well begin today. Stark Industries has brought together the best companies, universities and institutions focusing on science and technology to give you an opportunity to explore, learn and be inspired to follow into the footsteps of their employees and students, just like Stark Industries inspired me to become the best version of myself. _

He closed the document, not interested in reading further, and opened an e-mail to reply to Danielle, but he didn’t know _what_ to say. _How_ to say that he didn’t like this version, either. How to explain what was bothering him. He wondered whether he really _did_ overthink it. Whether he shouldn’t just go with the flow and represent without caring what it was he was saying. 

Hesitantly, he opened his chat with Tony. 

_Did you ever have to say something in a speech that you didn’t agree with? _

He looked up while he waited for an answer and saw Harry exit the school. He didn’t go to the parking lot, as Peter had expected, but turned towards Peter. Straightening in surprise, Peter looked at him with what he hoped was an encouraging expression. However, Harry barely glanced at him, walking past him. Peter slumped back against the wall, looking after him. Harry still didn’t look well, too pale and too shaky. It was becoming very obvious that something was seriously wrong, and he wondered how none of the teachers had noticed. How Norman Osborn hadn’t noticed. 

His phone vibrated, and he checked the message from Tony. 

_Plenty of times. I just started not to follow the script at some point. _

Peter bit his lip when Tony’s next message appeared. 

_Need me to interfere? _

It was tempting and he knew Tony wouldn’t mind. But Peter also knew that _he_ would. 

_It’s fine_, he answered.

“Fuck off,” he heard and turned his head towards the commotion automatically. 

There were three guys crowding Harry against the wall a couple of buildings away, then one of them slung his arm around Harry’s shoulder and tugged him out of sight of the busy street into an alley. 

Alarmed, Peter’s eyes widened, and he straightened. He looked back at the school’s two security guards who hadn’t noticed anything. Involving them would definitely mean that Harry would get into even more trouble. Shaking his head, Peter tucked his phone away as he hurried down the road towards the alley. 

When he reached it and peered around the corner carefully, he didn’t see them immediately. They were hidden away behind a couple of dumpsters. One of the men had moved into Harry’s space, forcing him back against the brick wall behind him. “Just give us the money and we’ll be on our way.”

Harry’s answer sounded slightly breathless. “I don’t have it here.”

The man moved, his fist hitting Harry’s stomach. Harry cried out and doubled over, but the man grabbed him by the lapels of his leather jacket and forced him to stand up straight again. “That’s what you said the last three times.” He pulled out a knife. “Maybe we should ask your daddy to pay up.”

Peter stepped into their sight, his hands curled into fists. “Let go of him.” 

The three men turned around to him and Harry’s eyes widened in alarm. “Peter, don’t …” 

The guy holding him grabbed Harry’s throat, cutting off his words, and pointed the knife at Peter. “Who’s that?” he asked with a malicious smile, his dark eyes narrowed. “Your little boyfriend?”

“Get out of here, kid,” one of the others said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “This is a business meeting.”

As Spider-Man, Peter had taken on worse guys than these three. He didn’t want to provoke a fight but if it was necessary, he was sure that he could take them on. He looked at Harry, who shook his head frantically, and then back at the men. “No.” 

The guy holding Harry against the wall laughed and the other who had spoken before stepped closer to Peter. “Don’t think I won’t punch you, you little rat. I will.”

“Let’s leave.” The unexpected interference came from the third guy, who was looking at Peter strangely. 

The guy with the knife snorted derisively. “What’s the matter with you?”

“That’s Stark’s kid,” the guy said. “I don’t want Iron Man on my ass.”

The other two looked at Peter, their eyes narrowed. The mand with the knife looked skeptical. “You serious?”

“Yeah.”

There was a moment of silence, then Harry was dropped and the guy who’d held him stalked towards Peter, leaning into his space. 

Peter stared up at him, not leaning away, not moving. 

“We’ll catch up with you later, Osborn,” the man said, still staring at Peter. Then he moved away, the three of them leaving the alley. 

Peter watched them leave, making sure that they turned the corner before he looked at Harry in concern. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not!” Harry snapped, brushing one shaky hand through his blond hair in agitation. “You idiot, you made it worse. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to me?” 

“Then tell your dad.”

“I can’t!”

“Then I will!” Peter stared at Harry angrily. “I will do it. But it would be better if it came from you.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the wall, curling into himself. “I can’t.”

“Harry-” 

“I can’t disappoint him again,” Harry said. He slid to crouch on the ground, pressing his shaky hands against his face. A sob escaped him.

Peter was taken aback by the sudden display of emotion. He felt sorry already for snapping at him. “Harry.” He crouched down in front of him and touched his arm carefully. 

Harry looked at him, his dark eyes red-rimmed. “You have no idea how lucky you are,” he said. “You can do no wrong in Stark’s eyes. Even my own dad is more invested in you than in me, talking to Miss Potts about internship options. Not for _me_, for _you_.” 

Peter swallowed. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry scoffed. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Right.” He took a deep breath. “He’s gonna ship me off to one of those clinics again. And then military or boarding school. The less I’m around, the better.” He got to his feet slowly. 

Peter supported him when he swayed. “You okay or should I call for help?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. He limped towards the busy street, Peter following in his wake. They stopped in front of the school gates. 

Peter could see Happy approach them from the parking lot and remembered having felt his phone vibrate a few times. Happy looked slightly frantic, but his expression relaxed when he saw Peter and he stopped to wave him over. 

Peter nodded at him but focused back on Harry. “Should we take you home?”

“The driver’s here,” Harry answered, nodding towards a man in a dark suit standing next to a black limousine. 

“Harry-”

“Pete,” he interrupted him. “I’ll figure something out this weekend.”

Peter swallowed his disbelief and nodded. “Okay.” 

Harry turned away from him to walk towards the limousine but paused and turned back to him. “You’re a nice guy, Peter,” he said. “_I_ was the jerk.”

Before Peter could find a way to answer, Harry walked away, right past Happy who gave him a worried frown. “Is he bothering you?” Happy asked when Peter reached him. 

Peter shook his head. “No.” 

“Let’s go then,” Happy said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got a movie night to prepare for.”


	6. Chapter 6

When Tony returned from accompanying Mayor Lewin to the elevator, he noticed that Pepper’s office door was open. Alex was standing next to Pepper’s desk, handing her several documents, which she signed in rapid succession. Tony knocked on the doorframe and they looked at him, Alex straightening while Pepper smiled at him. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

He shrugged, stepping inside slowly. “Better. Rhodey is a great nurse.”

She chuckled and handed Alex the last piece of paper, which he took as his cue to leave, closing the door softly behind him. “Was that Mayor Lewin I just saw leave?” Pepper asked, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands in her lap. The sun was shining through the windows behind her, her blonde hair seeming brighter than usual.

Tony approached her desk, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets casually. “Yeah, we had a meeting.” 

“About?” 

“_Officially_ about the expo. Unofficially about him knowing Peter is Spider-Man.”

Pepper’s eyes widened. “When did _that_ happen?”

“Gotham Hall. Apparently, one of those guys went after Lewin and Peter stopped him.”

“Oh no.”

“We’re fine,” Tony said, waving her concern off. “Lewin won’t tell.”

“Good,” she said, visibly relieved. She turned her chair to face Tony when he stepped around the desk and leaned back against it. “How’s Peter doing?”

Tony shrugged, staring out the window. “He’s still pretty upset. Can’t sleep, hovers, that sort of thing.”

Pepper grimaced. “I’m not surprised.”

Tony crossed his arms with a sigh. “We’re working on it. But all of this made me think.”

“Yeah?” 

He looked at her, letting the silence hang for a moment before he said, “I need to change my will.”

Pepper nodded. “You _should_. Just to make sure. Have you given any thought as to what you want to put down?” 

“That’s why I’m here.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Currently, _I’m_ the one to inherit Stark Industries.”

Tony swallowed and nodded, not meeting her eyes. 

Pepper smiled at him. “Are you uncomfortable about changing that? Because there’s no need to be, you know.” 

Something like relief unfurled in his chest and he released a breath. While he knew that Pepper was probably the most level-headed and reasonable person out there, he still hadn’t been quite sure how she would react to him considering changing any arrangement made in regard to Stark Industries. Pepper had put a lot of work and effort into the company and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel like she was being pushed out. “I would still like for you to inherit at least _part_ of the company,” Tony said. “I was thinking 40%.”

Pepper tilted her head. “I was afraid you were going to say 12%.”

They chuckled about the old joke. 

Tony continued, “I’d like to keep you as CEO at the very least until he turns twenty-one. If he needs longer to finish college, you would remain CEO until that happens. I don’t want him to get his education under some kind of time pressure.”

Pepper nodded in agreement.

“I’d like him to decide _whether_ and _when_ he wants to take over as CEO,” Tony added. “I was actually going to ask him to do a business degree next to whatever else he wants to study.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Pepper replied.

“Is that okay with you?” Tony asked, wanting to make sure. 

Pepper smiled. “Tony, why shouldn’t it be? He’s your kid. The both of us won’t be around forever, we need to think about the company’s future.”

“The board should agree to this.”

“I’ll bring it up in our next meeting,” Pepper said.

He nodded and hesitated a moment before he added, “And before any of them get any absurd ideas, he will keep his last name as it is now. There is no rule that says a Parker-Stark can’t represent Stark Industries.”

Pepper sighed, her head turning away to look out the window. “You read the new version of the speech?”

He clenched his jaw. “Yes, I did. And so did Peter. And he’s not comfortable with it.”

“Alex _tried_, Tony, but he couldn’t get Danielle to see his point. I was going to meet with her later to discuss it.” 

“Don’t,” Tony said quickly, shaking his head. 

Pepper frowned in surprise. “But-”

“Peter doesn’t want interference. The expo is _his_ project. I kept out of it and I will continue to do so until he tells me otherwise. And that includes the speech.” 

She looked at him carefully and he was sure that she was able to see how much he hated to stay passive, to let Peter handle the situation himself. But when Peter had started to get involved in the expo, he had asked Tony to promise that he wouldn’t interfere with anything unless Peter asked him to. 

He was determined to keep that promise. 

Pepper didn’t know about that, though. “Tony, are you sure? He might just be afraid to ask for help.”

“I don’t think he’s afraid. I think he’s trying to figure this out on his own and I’m all for that, as much as I’d like to pick up the phone and remind Danielle who she is dealing with.”

Pepper seemed reluctant, but she nodded slowly. “Fine, I won’t talk to her.”

***

“It’s a fact now that Spider-Man is back, right?” Ned asked. 

Tony looked up from his magazine and over to the corner housing the penthouse’s kitchen, where Peter and his friends were waiting for their popcorn to be done. They were huddled around one end of the kitchen island, Ned directly next to Peter. Tony knew him rather well by now, since Ned had stayed overnight at the Tower on several occasions. Peter and him were very close, the kind of best friends that could communicate with just a look or a gesture at times, in tune with each other just as much as Tony and Rhodey were. One of the negative side-effects of Peter living with Tony was that he didn’t get to see Ned as often as he’d used to anymore. However, that didn’t seem to have had an impact on their friendship. 

Tony turned his head to glance at Rhodey, who was busy reading files at the other end of the couch, exchanging a short glance of amusement with him, before he focused back on his magazine with a sigh, trying not to make it too apparent he was listening. 

The girl standing on Peter’s other side answered, “Some people say he’s a copycat.” This was Liz, Peter’s crush. Tony could understand why Peter was so smitten with her. She was a pretty girl with large dark eyes, long black hair and was clearly smart, given that she went to Midtown High. She was a little more than a year older than Peter, Tony knew, and about to go off to college in the fall. 

“Come on,” a boy named Abraham, who very nearly had hyperventilated upon shaking Tony’s hand, said with an exasperated sigh, helping himself to another handful of chips. “_Nobody_ could be that good of a copycat.”

The girl next to him – Cindy – frowned at him, “Where has he been for the last year then?” 

Tony saw Peter pointedly ignoring the conversation, his face set into a tense expression while he watched the microwave, as if he could will it to be faster.

Ned asked, “Does it matter? As long as he’s back.”

“_If_ it’s him,” Cindy replied.

“Of course it’s him. Right, Peter?”

Peter seemed startled at Ned’s question, his eyes widening. “Well … I don’t know.” The microwave beeped and Peter used the opportunity to move away from the conversation.

Tony suppressed a chuckle and caught Rhodey smirk.

“Why are you asking _Peter_?” the girl who had been quiet up until now asked. Michelle, as Peter had introduced her, was sitting on the kitchen island’s surface, playing with her phone as if she couldn’t be bothered to look at the others while speaking to them. “_Mr. Stark’s_ been sponsoring Spider-Man. _He_ would know.” She raised her head and turned to look directly at Tony, a challenge in her dark eyes. “Right, Mr. Stark?” 

Peter had once told Tony that Michelle took some getting used to. Tony hadn’t quite understood what he’d meant until tonight. Michelle was a pretty girl, even though she didn’t put any visible effort into her looks, and seemed like a typical teenager at first glance. However, when she’d been introduced to Tony, she’d been the only one who hadn’t seemed nervous to some degree and she’d met Tony’s eyes unflinchingly, her expression completely neutral. She’d looked him up and down for a moment, before nodding and turning away. Tony had felt vaguely reminded of Natasha, who could be just as much of a blank slate if she wanted to. 

Tony cleared his throat and answered, “Spider-Man took a break. He’s back in business now.”

That information seemed to thrill Abraham. “You’re _in touch_ with him?”

“Occasionally.” 

Michelle raised an eyebrow at him, and he frowned questioningly. Her lips turned up into a tiny smile and then she brought her attention back down to her phone. Tony had half a mind to call up Fury and tell him that he’d found his successor. Or ask him whether he had a daughter.

Ned hadn’t noticed the exchange. “Well, _if_ Spider-Man is back, he can catch that serial killer.”

“Serial killer?” Abraham asked.

Cindy rolled her yes. “The one who leaves bodies on the riverbank? How have you _not_ heard about this?”

“I got the popcorn,” Peter said, just a little too hasty and loudly, eager to change the topic. 

Michelle frowned at him. 

The group got distracted by gathering up their snacks to go to Peter’s room. Once their voices drifted off down the hallway, Tony looked at Rhodey. “She’s cute, isn’t she?”

“Who?” Rhodey asked, barely looking up from his paperwork.

“Liz. The girl Peter’s got a crush on.”

“That’s her?” Rhodey asked, then he shrugged. “I think she likes him.”

“Yeah.” He got his phone out and sent a text to Peter. 

_The balcony’s got a really romantic view when the sun sets. _

Rhodey frowned at him. “Please tell me you’re not vetting her right now.”

Tony looked at him, his eyes wide in offense. “I would never-”

“Oh, you would.” 

_Thank you for this random piece of information_, Peter sent back. 

Tony groaned in exasperation. _Maybe you want to take Liz out later to show it to her? _

“Tony, don’t.”

“I’m not vetting her. I’m texting Peter.” 

“Leave him be.” 

The sound of laughter echoed down the hallway. 

Rhodey looked at Tony. “Hear that? He’s having fun.”

Tony put his phone down and sighed, turning his head to look at Rhodey, who was immersed in his paperwork again. “He slept in my room last night.”

Rhodey paused to glance at him. “Did he?”

“He had F.R.I.D.A.Y. check my vital signs thirteen times and then still came to my room and slept in the chair.” 

His expression turning thoughtful, Rhodey asked, “Are you worried?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean …” Rhodey sighed. “Are you worried he might … need help, after everything that’s happened in the past year?”

“You mean therapy?” Tony closed his eyes and shook his head. “I just don’t know. He _seems_ better. I’m pretty sure he _is_ better.” He released a breath. “I’m blowing this out of proportion, right? He’s just reacting to what happened. He’ll recover. I’m just …”

“Worried. I get it.” Rhodey smiled. “That’ll never stop, you know.”

Tony sighed. “I know.” He smiled. “I don’t mind.”

***

A few hours later, Tony and Rhodey were still on the couch. Rhodey kept nodding off while he read a file about the current research projects going on at the Avengers Facility. With Tony being mainly in New York these days, Rhodey had taken up the role of managing the facility’s day-to-day business. He’d told Tony once that he enjoyed keeping busy, so Tony had given him more and more responsibility and he wasn’t exactly eager to get it back. 

Retirement sounded more and more tempting, really.

“You might want to give input on this,” Rhodey said and handed a file over to him. “They request to reconfigure B.A.R.F. for training scenarios.”

Tony grimaced. “Not sure I’d like that.”

“They’re making some good points, though. They’d like to get that Beck guy to join the project because he wrote the original program.”

“He’s not with Stark Industries anymore,” Tony answered. “I fired him a while ago. And I will not give him clearance to the Avengers Facility. He’s a little too … intense.”

Rhodey raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment any further. 

Voices drifted down the hallway and Tony glanced towards Peter, who was accompanying Ned and Michelle to the elevator, waving goodbye as they left. When Peter turned to go back to his room, Tony asked, “Only Liz is still here, right?”

“Right,” Peter answered, frowning in confusion when Tony hummed thoughtfully.

“Leave the door open, okay?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “You have to ask?”

Peter looked at Rhodey, who just shrugged and proceeded to hide a yawn behind his hand. Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re lame.” 

There was no real sting behind his words and Tony didn’t take them that way, smirking teasingly. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he drawled. “It means I’m doing things right.”

“Dork,” Peter said, turning to head back to his room.

“Love you!” Tony called after him, accompanied by Rhodey’s laughter.

***

“Sorry,” Peter said as he entered his room. “Gotta leave the door open.”

Liz looked at him from where she was seated on a few pillows by the panorama window. “What does he think we’re doing in here?”

Peter side-stepped empty wrappers, glasses and bowls which had accumulated near the TV, ignoring them in favor of sitting down opposite her. “At this point, I think he’s just copying parenting techniques he sees on _Modern Family_.”

Liz laughed. “I’ll be out of your hair in twenty minutes or so. My dad just texted me.”

Peter folded his hands tightly to keep them from fidgeting, his nervousness mounting now that he was alone with Liz. “Cool.”

She winked at him. “He’d want me to leave the door open as well.”

Peter smiled, watching her look out the window at the city glittering below them. In the dim illumination of his room, the city lights were reflected in her eyes, her dark hair shining.

“You’ve got a great view,” she said.

“Yeah,” he answered, clearing his throat and turning his eyes away when she looked at him. “It’s great.” 

“Tonight was fun. I’m gonna miss that.”

Peter frowned questioningly. “Miss it?”

“I’m …” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t tell the others yet, but I got accepted into UConn.” 

Peter’s eyes widened. He forced a smile, even though his heart had skipped a beat, his chest feeling a little tight. “Wow, that’s … that’s really cool.”

“Yeah, it’s a good school. My dad can’t stop bragging about it.” She shrugged. “But it’s three hours away, so I’m going to live on campus and … I won’t be here that often anymore to see you guys.”

Peter turned to look outside, trying to swallow his sadness. “That’s … a shame.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell the others yet, please.”

“Sure thing.”

“I just thought … you know … I’d tell _you_.”

Looking into her eyes made Peter nervous, his heart beating hard enough that he was convinced she could hear it. He turned his attention back to the window. Silence descended between them. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, but it made him more nervous, his fingers tightly entwined.

“You know … I went to Homecoming alone last year,” Liz said suddenly.

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. One or two guys asked.” She shrugged and Peter thought that the number must be an understatement. Liz was the most popular girl in Midtown High. “Didn’t really feel like it. I kinda …” She pressed her lips together and her next words came out softer, almost as if she was afraid. “I kinda wanted to go with _you_.”

Peter’s eyes widened in surprise. “With me?”

“Yeah.” She smiled.

He shook his head, still stunned. “_Why_?” 

She laughed nervously. “You’re, like, the smartest guy I know, Peter. Why do you think?” Her phone dinged. “That’s my dad.” She got up with a sigh and brushed her hands down the denim skirt she was wearing to straighten it. 

“Hey,” Peter said, his voice tentative. “Maybe …” He got to his feet as well, stumbling a bit and catching himself by leaning back against the window. “Maybe I could text you and we’d … I don’t know, we could do something together some time?” He released a breath, his throat tight around his next words, “You and me?”

Liz smiled tentatively. “Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

The knot in Peter’s chest loosened and a grin broke out on his face. “Cool.” He nodded. “Cool.”

***

Tony didn’t quite hear the words that were exchanged at the elevator as Liz left, but he saw her hand reaching out and grasping Peter’s for a moment, quickly averting his eyes when Peter glanced in his direction. He bit his lip to suppress a grin, unable to contain it entirely. Automatically, he looked towards Rhodey to share the moment, but he’d fallen asleep a while ago, a pen still in his mouth and several papers spread out around him. A moment later, Peter jumped over the backrest of the couch to land next to Tony, his eyes on the TV and one hand coming up to hide the wide grin he was sporting. 

Tony raised his arm to lay it on the back of the couch, curling it around Peter’s shoulders, which caused Peter to tuck himself against Tony’s side, his legs coming up onto the seat.

“Congrats, Casanova,” Tony said softly. 

Peter looked at him, his dark eyes reflecting the wide grin on his lips. His cheeks were flushed a little, though, as if he was embarrassed. “Keep the door open?” he asked. “Seriously?”

“Sh,” Tony admonished him, nodding towards Rhodey. 

“Did you take a picture?” Peter whispered.

“Who do you think I am?” Tony answered. “I took a dozen.” Peter took the remote control from him and started surfing through the Netflix menu, as Tony said, “Who knows what your raging teenage hormones get up to when I’m not looking? It’s not like I was sitting in a corner watching you.” 

Peter shook his head. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love me, because I provide food and shelter and a Netflix account.”

Peter tilted his head to look at him, a smile on his face as he said, “You’re a lame dad.”

“Still not convinced that’s an insult.”

“It isn’t,” Peter answered. 

Tony smiled and pressed a kiss into Peter’s hair. 

***

Tony woke when the blinds on his bedroom window shifted to let the sun fall in. He rubbed one hand down his face tiredly and yawned, turning around on his other side to make use of the Saturday morning to doze a bit longer. His plans were derailed, though, when his eyes caught Peter in the chair by the door. He was slumped in the seat, his legs stretched out in front of him and one arm hanging over the armrest while his other hand supported his head. He was asleep. 

Tony sighed. “Kid,” he murmured, getting up slowly. He grabbed the woolen blanket off the end of his bed and spread it over Peter, pausing with his hand on Peter’s shoulder before he left to make breakfast. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., when did he come in?”

_“At around 03:30, boss.” _

“Another nightmare?”

_“I believe so.” _

Tony walked into the kitchen, nodding at Rhodey, who was having a bowl of cereal at the kitchen island and leafing through a newspaper. The sun was bathing the open-plan living area into a warm light despite the early hour, and Rhodey had positioned himself in a way that allowed the sun to warm his back. The balcony door was open, a cool breeze creeping in. 

Tony switched on the coffee machine and looked at Rhodey questioningly, who nodded. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., please wake me next time this happens.”

_“Will do.” _

“Next time what happens?” Rhodey asked.

“Next time Peter comes into my room at night.”

Rhodey frowned. “Again?” He accepted the steaming mug of coffee Tony handed him and took a sip before he asked, “What are you going to do?”

Tony sighed and then paused before hitting the button for his own cup, an idea occurring. He looked at the balcony door thoughtfully. “You know … when I came back from Afghanistan, I used to have nightmares. A lot of them. Could hardly sleep. I still spent most of my time in Malibu at that time and one night, I left the windows open.” He waved one of his hands dismissively. “I was probably drunk, I usually always closed them at night and let the AC do its job, but that night, I didn’t and when I woke up from a nightmare, I just … heard the ocean and felt the breeze and smelled the air and it calmed me down enough to fall back asleep.” 

Rhodey nodded. “Because you knew you weren’t there anymore.”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “I need to find the thing that makes Peter calm down and fall back asleep.”

Rhodey raised an eyebrow. “Well, he wanders into your room, so I’d think it’s pretty obvious.”

Tony grimaced. “Yeah, having my teenage son sleep in my room every night until he moves out is not really an option.” 

Smirking, Rhodey asked, “What are you gonna do, then?”

“I don’t know yet,” Tony answered, pensive.

***

By the time Peter left the penthouse in the suit, it was still early enough in the morning that the sun hadn’t fully risen yet. It was just peeking through the gaps between the skyscrapers and gathered in the valleys the streets formed, the Saturday morning traffic just starting to pick up. Peter whooped as he swung through the streets, the HUD in his suit alive with information on the weather forecast and the fluid level in his web-shooters. With the wind rushing around him as he fell and pulled himself up again, with the people pointing at him and some of them cheering him on, time passed quickly and it was easy not to think about the nightmares that had caused him to seek refuge in Tony’s room. 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. _telling_ him that Tony was fine wasn’t enough. He needed to _see_ it, to _hear_ Tony breathe, needed to hear the sound of his heart beating to be sure. 

It was irrational, childish and embarrassing. 

Peter passed the morning by swinging his way over to Queens. Mornings were the quietest times for patrols. He remembered that. Very few crimes happened after the sun had gone up, so he helped a struggling, elderly baker to get goods from the bakery into a van and was rewarded with an éclair, which he ate sitting perched over a busy street. 

He entertained some kids on a playground and spent the late morning moving furniture for a young couple and helping out after a car accident. People met him with friendly smiles and warm words and with every encounter, Peter felt his connection to Queens warm up again, his roots taking a firmer hold in his home borough.

He checked in with Tony around lunchtime and got a hot dog from a stand which he’d frequented quite often as Spider-Man when he’d still lived in Queens. While he ate, he exchanged stories with Tim, the tired-looking guy who was working the stand. He was in a different area of Queens every day and talked to a lot of people, and he knew quite a lot about what was going on. 

“Yeah, they’re popping up randomly with those alien things, just cutting ATMs out of the walls.”

A group of teenagers was sitting on a bench nearby. One of them had his phone out and was either filming or photographing. Peter ignored it, already having waved at them when he’d first noticed them. He was used to calling attention to himself when he was on patrol and he didn’t mind as much as he did when he was out of the suit. The mask helped a lot in that regard, even when he was wearing it pushed up to the bridge of his nose to eat, as he did now. “Do you have any idea where they could have gotten the weapons from?”

Tim shook his head. “But there’s this construction site near Citi Field.” He paused to serve a customer and only continued when the man had left. “I know the guy who is working the crane and he says that he was there late one night and saw strange lights on the other side of Flushing Creek, near the 25A. Several times, actually.”

Peter finished his hot dog thoughtfully. “Did he ever report it?”

Tim shrugged. “Don’t think so. He was in trouble with the cops a few times, you know? Another one?” 

Peter nodded, starting to get the money from the hidden pouch in his suit but Tim shook his head. “This one’s on me, Spidey.”

Peter smiled. “Thanks, man.” 

He stilled when his danger-sense sparked, a sharp pain in the back of his neck that caused his body to react before he could quite understand where the issue was coming from, his hand catching something that had been hurtling straight at his head without even looking. 

The teenagers cheered. 

Peter looked down at the empty glass bottle in his hand, stunned, and then at the man who had thrown it. He was standing a few feet away, his face set into a scowl and his hands balled to fists. “Freak!” he said. “Get lost!” 

Tim reacted before Peter could. “You get lost, asshole.”

The guy’s face morphed into an expression of pure hatred and he marched towards the hot dog stand. 

Peter set the bottle down and pulled his mask into place, stepping into his way. “That’s enough,” he said, trying to sound calm. 

The guy paused, glaring at him. “You know it’s people like you who are destroying America?”

Peter swallowed the hurt the words caused. “And how exactly does that work?”

“You freaks think you’re better than us!”

“I don’t think I’m better than you,” Peter said, putting effort into keeping his voice even. “Walk away. Leave my friend alone.”

The guy reached out to push him, but Peter caught his hand. “Don’t.” 

Tugging his hand out of Peter’s grip, the man sneered. “You know what they should do with that Registration Act? Shoot every single person on that list.” With that, he turned and walked away. 

Peter ducked his head, taking a deep breath. He hadn’t thought much about the Registration Act in the last couple of days, hadn’t really thought about how many people hated enhanced humans. The reminder hurt.

“Spidey, you alright?” Tim asked. 

Peter turned back around to him, pasting a smile on his face as he pushed the mask back onto the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, of course. Where’s that hot dog you promised me?” 

He patrolled for the rest of the day and only paused in the late afternoon to watch planes take off from La Guardia. Remembering that he hadn’t tried to talk to Number 7 all day, wanting to get used to his suit again first, he thought that this was the perfect opportunity. He cleared his throat. “Uh … hello?”

_“Hello, Peter,”_ the friendly female voice answered. _“I see you took us out for patrol.” _

“Yes.” 

_“What can I do for you?” _

“Could you dial Tony, please?”

_“Coming right up.” _

The phone rang several times before Tony picked up, sounding a bit distracted. _“Kid?” _

“Hey.” 

_“Hey, you okay?” _

“Yeah.” 

_“Coming home at some point in time?” _

Peter smiled. “Uh … I was hoping that I could skip dinner and stay out a little longer?”

_“You don’t get to skip dinner,”_ Tony answered firmly, and Peter’s shoulders slumped. _“You do, however, get to stay out a little longer. Get yourself a pizza or something.” _

Peter grinned. “Cool, thanks.”

_“Curfew is at one.”_ Tony hung up before Peter could find an answer to that.

He used the 25A to cross Flushing Creek and got a pizza, settling on the roof of a hotel, which gave him a good view over the area. “Number 7?” he asked and pushed the mask onto the bridge of his nose to eat.

_“How can I help?” _

“It’s nothing, really,” he answered, swallowing the bite. “I just … I don’t know, wanted to get to know you.”

_“My current designation is Number 7. My creator is Tony Stark. My owner is Peter Parker-Stark.” _

Peter picked a piece of pepperoni off his pizza. “You already got the memo then?”

This seemed to give her pause. _“The memo?” _

“About the adoption.”

_“There was no memo. However, I received an update from Boss yesterday.” _

“That must have been it, then.”

_“Do you wish to change my designation?” _

Peter thought about that. “Maybe for a little while? Number 7 is a little awkward and I haven’t got a good name yet.”

_“Would you like me to look up female names commonly given in the USA for inspiration?” _

He chuckled. “I’m fine.” 

_“So what should my designation be for now?” _

He hummed thoughtfully. “Suit AI? Suit … ghost?” He grimaced, then he had an idea. “Suit Lady?”

_“I like that one.” _

“Yeah, let’s keep that.” He ate about half his pizza before he asked the next question. “So, what can you do?” 

_“Many things.” _

“Give me the highlights.”

_“I have several features which you might find useful, such as over five hundred web-shooter combinations, a heater and a cooler, reconnaissance mode, interrogation mode and I am programmed-”_

“Interrogation mode?” Peter interrupted her. 

_“Yes.” _

“What does that do?”

_“Would you like to activate it? You would have to pull down your mask.” _

He paused. “Sure.” While he pulled the mask into place, a blinking message in the upper right corner of his HUD showed him that interrogation mode was activated but he didn’t see any immediate effects. “Uh … Suit Lady?” He startled and slapped a hand over his mouth. Then he removed it again and slowly said, “What the hell?” His voice sounded several hundred octaves deeper, almost robotic, dark and foreboding. “Huh, I’m intimidating.” He pulled the mask back up. “Can you switch it off?”

_“Of course.” _

“What else is there?”

_“The enhanced combat mode.” _

Peter paused. “That sounds promising.”

_“Activating Instant Kill.” _

“What?” Peter asked as the HUD was tinted into a blue hue, the lenses narrowing down to focus on the parking area behind one of the dilapidated warehouses and shops near the river.

_“Instant Kill will assist you in combat by identifying nearby attackers and their likely weakness and can discharge an electric shock hard enough to kill a human opponent. It will also help you to focus your attention-“ _

“Switch it off.”

_“Are you not pleased with the features? Improvements can be made-“_

“I don’t want to _kill_ anyone. Switch it off.”

_“Deactivating Instant Kill.” _

“Why did Tony put that in there?” Peter asked, feeling his chest heave with nervous breaths.

_“I’m sorry, Peter. There seems to have been a mishap with the deactivation of the Training Wheels Protocol. You were not supposed to have access to this feature until you turned twenty-one. Should I make a note for Boss to remove it?” _

“No, just …” Peter sighed. “It’s fine.”

He finished his pizza and swung around the neighborhood, keeping an eye on any strange lights which might flash across the sky. 

Nothing happened. 

At half past ten, he sighed tiredly and had Suit Lady plot the fastest route home. He didn’t know why he was so disappointed. It had been unlikely to find the guys immediately. They probably had several spots where they did their business. Maybe, if he could get a high enough vantage point from where he could overlook a large area, he would be able to find them. 

He did a flip as he reached Queensboro Bridge, landing on one of the metal spans, and walked up towards the first cantilever. He had a bit of time left and took a moment to look back at Queens. A smile crept onto his face. All in all, it had been a good day. He’d thought it would be harder for him to put on the suit again, to become Spider-Man again, but it felt great, actually.

As he turned away, his eyes caught on something on the shore and he froze. 

“What is that?” 

He narrowed his eyes, the suit zooming in automatically and now, Peter could identify a human body. Quickly, he jumped off the bridge, catching himself with a web and dropping to the shore when the distance wasn’t big anymore. He hurried over to the body and saw now that it was a woman. 

“Oh my God, is she still alive?”

_“No life signs detected,”_ Suit Lady answered. 

Peter knelt next to her, his hand hovering because he didn’t dare to touch. In the dim lights of the surrounding city, he could see that she was young, maybe in her mid-twenties. Her blonde hair was clinging to her face, heavy with river water, and her brown eyes were wide open, staring into nothing. She wore a short denim skirt and a tanktop, but her feet were bare. There was a gunshot wound in her chest, the hole in her tanktop surrounded by washed out blood. 

Peter stared at her. Nausea was creeping up his throat and he pushed the mask up onto his nose to take in a few deep breaths of air, tears turning his vision slightly blurry.

_“I should make you aware that the body is emanating some sort of radiation.” _

Peter’s eyes widened and he scrambled back. “What?” 

_“Should I save the radiation markers for analysis?” _

Peter swallowed and pushed the mask up higher for just a moment to wipe at his eyes.

_“Peter?” _

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “How long since she-”

_“Hard to say. The fact that she was in the water could throw any calculation off.” _

“Give me an estimation then.”

_“Between four and ten hours.” _

He thought about that. “Let’s say ten and she was thrown into the water immediately … immediately _after_, where would they have … thrown her in?”

_“East River is a tidal strait, so it’s complicated.” _

“Because the water doesn’t flow into one direction, it changes.”

_“Correct. Several times a day.” _

“Try.” 

_“Taking tidal currents into consideration, I would say near Astoria Ferry Terminal.” _

Peter took a deep breath, looking around helplessly. “What do I do?”

_“It would be best to call the police, Peter. I can leave an anonymous tip.” _

“Please,” he said and got up, turning away. He pulled himself up onto Queensboro Bridge again. 

He waited until the police arrived and only hurried home when he was sure that they had found the woman and would take care of her. On the way back to the penthouse, air caught in chest sometimes, his vision blurring a bit when new tears threatened. It wasn’t the first time that he’d seen a dead body, but the sight had reminded him too much of Ben and May, digging into his heart and right into the place where he’d tried to bury his sorrow. He hadn’t been prepared for this. 

When he entered the penthouse through the balcony door and took off his mask, Tony turned his head away from the TV to smile at him. “Just in time.” His smile faltered when he saw Peter’s face and he got up, approaching him quickly. “Pete, what happened?”

Peter stepped towards him, curling against Tony’s chest, his hands clenching in Tony’s shirt at his back. He didn’t answer, his throat feeling tight and tears tracking down his cheeks. 

“Okay,” Tony said quietly, wrapping his arms around him and burying one hand in Peter’s hair. “It’s okay.”


	7. Chapter 7

“There’s nothing in my database matching the kind of radiation your suit picked up on,” Tony said, the glare of the holographic screen he was frowning at making him look pale in the dim lights of the workshop. “It’s got similarities with gamma radiation, but I have no idea what could have caused it.”

Peter was sitting next to the screen on the workbench, one leg pulled against his chest and his hands folded over the knee. He’d changed out of the suit, wearing pajama pants and a threadbare Princess Leia t-shirt Ben had bought him as a joke for Peter’s 14th birthday after Peter had admitted to having a crush on her. It was way too big on him, but Peter loved it either way. He looked at Tony, his fingers tightening their grip on each other. “I think it was the serial killer,” he said softly.

Tony paused, a slight grimace flickering over his expression. “I don’t know enough about that case to say for sure but it’s possible.”

Peter swallowed, pulling his shoulders up as the image of the dead woman flashed in front of his mind’s eye again. He wondered whether she had a family, whether there were parents somewhere wondering where their daughter was. And now, police would knock on their door and tell them that she would never come home again. The thought sat heavy on Peter’s chest. “Should we do something?”

Tony looked at him, crossing his arms. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know, just … _something_.”

Tony sighed. “The police should be able to handle it.”

“But if they _aren’t_?”

Tony shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do, legally. This isn’t even Avengers turf.”

“It’s _mine_, though.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed, his mouth settling into a grim line as his jaw hardened. “Where would you even start?” 

Peter took a breath, coming up empty. “I don’t know.”

“Listen,” Tony said earnestly, his hand closing around Peter’s ankle gently. “I don’t want you to get involved in this. You’re just getting back into the swing of things. Don’t take on a serial killer, just … be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

Peter huffed a breath. “And do what? Swing around Queens, do all the little stuff and smile for the cameras?”

“That’s not what I-” 

“You want me to _represent_ but not make an impact, like some kind of puppet? Should I change my name, too?” He realized what he’d said just a second after it was out and felt his cheeks heat with shame. He bit his lip and lowered his head, taking deep breaths to calm down. 

Tony was quiet for a long moment. 

Peter didn’t dare to look at him. He felt tired and exposed. He hadn’t meant to bring it up, but now that it was out there, he knew that Tony wouldn’t let it go, so he just waited. 

Tony cleared his throat, his hand pulling back as he crossed his arms. “There it is. I’ve been waiting for that for days.”

“Glad I didn’t disappoint,” Peter bit out.

“You want to rethink all of that?” Tony asked. It was a warning, Peter knew. Tony was annoyed with his attitude, but he gave Peter the chance to reevaluate his behavior. He was a lot like Ben in that regard. 

Peter pulled his shoulders up. “I’m sorry. That was unfair.”

Tony hummed his agreement. “Where did that come from?”

“You know,” Peter answered, fiddling with a loose thread on his pajama pants. “I just hate the speech.”

Tony leaned against the workbench. “I offered to intervene.”

“I know, I just …” Peter swallowed, meeting Tony’s eyes carefully. “I’m not a baby.”

Tony sighed. “You know, it doesn’t make you any less of a man to ask for help.”

“I want them to _respect_ me. I’m tired of being the little orphan from Queens that you were bored enough to take in, I’m tired of them expecting me to just forget about my past, and I hate that all they see is just me as a copy of you falling short. I just want to be …” He bit his tongue.

“You want to be what?” Tony asked. 

Peter swallowed, whispering, “I want to be _me_. I mean …” He shook his head. “I want to be like you, yes, in some ways but … I also want to be Peter Parker. It’s just …” He shrugged. “Nobody else wants that.”

“_I_ want that,” Tony answered. “Pepper wants that, Rhodey and Happy want that-”

“You know what I mean.” Peter rubbed his forehead. “And I know you want to help but I don’t want you to interfere because then I’m just … hiding behind you and I … don’t want that.”

Tony nodded, his lips pressed together. He was quiet for a long moment, just staring at Peter thoughtfully, until Peter shifted uncomfortably. He was just about to tell Tony to forget about it when Tony spoke. “Whatever you decide is fine by me. I can interfere or not, it’s your decision. You just make sure,” he grasped Peter’s shoulders, “that you feel comfortable with your choices, and don’t let anybody else tell you who you should be. Been there, done that, got the therapy to prove it.” He cracked a smile. “So, if you go on that stage and you introduce yourself as Peter Parker, I’ll be fine with that. And my opinion is the only one that counts, so …” 

Peter chuckled. “I’ll have to ask Pepper about that.”

Tony’s fingers tightened their grip around Peter’s shoulders. “I am incredibly proud of you.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat, his lips pulling into an embarrassed smile.

“Now,” Tony said, withdrawing his hands and straightening his stance, “do you need me to interfere?”

Peter paused before answering, considering the question for a moment. Then he shook his head. “It’s fine. I think I can handle it.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “I’ll come to you when I can’t.” 

***

Tony couldn’t sleep. 

It was as if he had rested too much in the last couple of days and now his body was full of excess energy. He was in bed, the lights turned down to the lowest setting, and went through files of penthouse listings his real estate agent Lucy had sent him today on his tablet PC. He’d e-mailed her to let her know that he wouldn’t go through with the penthouse in Tribeca and had hinted at the reason, and now he was looking at listings of penthouses she thought had a great view of Queens. Tony had already marked several he liked, intending to forward them to Peter the next morning. 

He was just about to open a new file when the door to his bedroom opened slowly. Peter hovered on the doorstep - hair askew, face tense and eyes red -, his arms crossed over that ridiculous Princess Leia t-shirt he loved. He looked at Tony for a long moment, seeming embarrassed now that he was here. “Sorry, I thought you were sleeping.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He lowered the tablet PC to rest on his stomach. “Another nightmare?”

Peter nodded. 

Something inside Tony’s chest twisted painfully. “I’m okay.”

“I know.” Peter’s frustration was obvious. 

Tony knew what he was going through, knew the irrational fear tightening your chest until you felt you couldn’t breathe, the shame of feeling that way in the first place. “Come here,” he said, patting the empty space beside him. 

Peter hesitated. 

Tony raised his eyebrows. “It’s your bed or mine. I won’t let you sleep in that chair again.” 

Peter ducked his head, his shoulders heaving a sigh, then he moved to cross the room slowly and settled on the other side of the bed, getting under the covers while Tony pulled the pillow into position for him. Peter laid down quietly, not meeting Tony’s eyes, and turned on his side to face him, grabbing one of the pillows in the middle to hug to his chest.

“What do you need?” Tony asked. 

Peter buried his face in the pillow. “This is embarrassing.”

Tony shifted to lie down and switched off the lights. “Tell me.” The city lights fell through the window, just bright enough for Tony to see Peter’s silhouette against the window. 

“It’s just … I don’t know. I just … if I focus, I can hear your heartbeat. I can hear you breathing, and then I know …” 

“That I’m okay?” He tapped his fingers against the side of the tablet PC. “But F.R.I.D.A.Y. tells you that.” 

“She _tells_ me but … it’s not the same.”

Tony sighed deeply. “Kid,” he said softly, earnestly, “this has to stop.”

“I know.” He heard Peter shift. “I’ll stop. I promise.”

Tony reached out, his fingers tangling in Peter’s hair. He tugged gently. “We’ll figure this out.” His thumb smoothed over the crease between Peter’s brows. “Do you think you might want to see a therapist?” 

The dark made it easier to ask the question and he could feel Peter react, his eyebrows drawing together. “You think I have to?”

“You don’t _have_ to. I’m offering. In case you need somebody to talk to.”

Peter didn’t answer for a while, then he said, “I saw a therapist when I was little.”

“You did?”

He felt Peter nod. “After mom and dad … Ben thought it would be a good idea, ‘cause I wasn’t talking and I had nightmares and … issues.”

“And was it helpful?” 

There was a long pause. “I guess.”

“Think about it,” Tony said. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Tony’s fingers moved through Peter’s hair slowly, trying to soothe him to sleep. It seemed to be working because Peter sounded tired and half-asleep already when he asked, “What were you looking at?”

“Penthouses.” Tony lowered the brightness of the screen and then set it on his stomach. Peter shifted closer until Tony’s arm could come around his back and Peter’s cheek was resting against Tony’s shoulder. Tony felt a bout of nervousness, as he always did when they reached a new level of closeness. It wasn’t unusual for them by now to lean against each other when they were settled on the couch watching TV, but this … this was different. Peter shifted, pulling the pillow he was hugging between them closer to his chest, and let out a sigh. Tony opened one of the files he’d marked earlier. “Look at this one,” he said softly. “It’s my favorite so far. It’s right by Tramway Plaza …”

***

The R&D department was quiet on Sundays. 

On Saturdays, some people would still come in, mainly students and interns, but on Sundays, only those with sensitive experiments were present. When Peter exited the elevator, the lights in the hallway switched on automatically. Most of the labs around him were dark, the equipment just silhouettes visible through the glass walls. There was only one lab he passed in which the lights were on and on his way to Gareth’s office, he ran into the occupant: a young man coming from the kitchen with a frantic grip on a coffee mug and the kind of look in his eyes that Peter had come to identify as ‘student in distress’. 

He smiled at him and received a muttered “Sir” as he passed Peter. He still felt weird about the amount of propriety Stark Industries employees were showing him when he walked through the building. Everybody seemed to know he was Tony Stark’s son and they went out of their way to let him pass or enter elevators first. 

He entered Gareth’s office, waiting for all the lights to turn on before he stepped up to the small bookshelf behind the desk. When Peter and Gareth had walked back to the office after their trip to Central Park, Peter had mentioned the biology presentation on genetic mutations which he had to finish up until Monday. Gareth had mentioned a book he owned which Peter hadn’t been able to find in the school library and offered Peter to borrow it over the weekend. In the end, Peter had forgotten to take it, mainly because he was still a little thrown by Gareth’s admission that he was enhanced as well. He’d only remembered Gareth’s offer this morning, when he’d sat down to finalize the presentation.

Peter lingered over some of the book titles, pulling three or four from the shelf to flick through them out of interest, but eventually, he found what he was looking for. He took the heavy book out of the shelf and leafed through it quickly to find the summary page, scanning the chapter titles. “Perfect,” he muttered and turned the page, pausing when he saw a photograph tucked between the second part of the summary and the beginning of the first chapter. 

He noticed Gareth first, a bit younger than today, standing in a woodsy area, wearing what looked like a black tactical uniform. His dark hair was shorter and kind of untidy, he had his arms crossed and a smudge of dirt was smeared on his cheek as he smiled easily. He looked like a completely different person, standing next to …

Peter almost dropped the book when he saw who was next to him. 

He froze, his hands tightening around the book, digging into the hard edges, as he stared at the faces of his parents smiling back at him. His father was sporting the easy grin Peter remembered so well, his green eyes reflecting his smile, his arm around the waist of Peter’s mother, who was making a thumbs-up gesture at the camera, her dark eyes alight and her brown hair pulled into a ponytail. They were wearing the same kind of uniform as Gareth, guns strapped to their thighs. His mother was turned slightly to the side and he could see a patch on her upper arm; a stylized eagle with spread wings and the letters S.H.I.E.L.D. underneath.

“What?” 

His parents wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms. His parents wearing guns. His parents standing next to Gareth Olson as if they were old friends out on a field trip. His parents … 

Peter dropped the book and took a step back. He closed his eyes, focusing on breathing deeply and calmly before he opened them again. The picture had fluttered away to land on the carpet, now displaying the black writing on its back. 

_East Region Team Building, 1997_

Four years before Peter had been born. 

His breathing hitched and his eyes burned, but he forced the tears down. Seeing his parents so unexpectedly and in this context did something to him that was hard to explain. Seeing Gareth, a man he’d come to like, next to them, felt as if a knife had been shoved between his ribs. 

Gareth had told him about being enhanced but he hadn’t thought to tell him about _this_?

Slowly, he crouched to pick up the book and then the picture and made his way to the elevators. He went down to the abandoned lobby and crossed it to enter the private elevator hidden behind the reception. The elevator dinged when it reached the penthouse and Peter took three steps to exit it, then he stopped and turned his head towards the kitchen.

Rhodey was seated where Peter had last seen him, at the kitchen island working on his laptop. “Hey, kid.”

“Where’s Tony?” Peter asked. He could hear his voice quiver slightly and pressed the book tighter to his chest, ordering himself to pull it together and stay calm.

It didn’t seem to work as well as he’d hoped because Rhodey frowned worriedly. “In the workshop, I think.”

“Thanks.” He walked past Rhodey towards the stairs leading up to Bruce’s lab and the workshop.

“Hey, you okay?” Rhodey asked. 

Peter didn’t answer. He just walked faster. 

Tony looked up from where he was working on Rhodey’s leg braces. “Done with the presentation already?”

“I need you to pull a list of all S.H.I.E.L.D. employees in 1997.”

Tony straightened, his face showing a confused frown. “What?” 

“I need you to pull-”

“Peter, I heard you. Why do you need it?”

Peter put the book down. His hand was shaking when he held the picture out for Tony to see. 

“Hey, whoa,” Tony said, taking Peter’s wrist and pulling him closer. He didn’t look at the photograph, his dark eyes instead scanning Peter’s face. “What’s going on, buddy?” Only then did he lower his eyes to look at the picture. “Olson was a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative?”

“Those are my parents,” Peter whispered. 

Tony froze, raising his gaze slowly to stare at him. “Your parents?”

Peter nodded.

“Gee, kid, sit down, you look about ready to pass out.” He pushed Peter to sit on the chair and looked at the picture again.

“I need to know if it’s true,” Peter said. “I need to _know_, Tony.”

“Okay,” Tony said softly, pulling the keyboard closer, and opened a new window, landing on an access page to the DODC and entering his credentials. “Where did you find this?”

“In the book.”

Tony waited for the page to load, his eyes falling back to the picture again. “I can’t believe I didn’t know he was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

“I did.”

Tony paused and looked at him.

“He told me a couple of days ago.”

Tony was frowning.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said.

Tony shook his head. “Hey, it’s not … it’s okay.” He clicked himself through to a personnel database. “The DODC has all former S.H.I.E.L.D. files, so if this is true, we will find them, no problem.” 

He entered the name ‘Parker’. Peter’s heart skipped a beat when more than a hundred results were shown. Tony amended the search to ‘Parker, Richard’. 

Two results with pictures popped up and Peter sucked in a breath as he looked at the first one. “It’s him.”

“I’ll be damned,” Tony muttered. “How did I not know this?”

Peter took the keyboard and mouse from him and clicked on the file, frantically scanning the page. “Please, please, please …,” he muttered.

“What are you looking for?”

Peter froze, having already found it. 

_Date of service entry: 01 March 1994_   
_Date of service end: 26 July 2007 (KIA) _

He gasped.

“Kid,” Tony said, and he felt an arm curl around his shoulders. 

He scrolled down. 

“I’m not sure you should be reading this.” 

The last entry in the file was short, but it caused tears to cloud Peter’s vision. 

_26 July, 2007, Mission Lux, Algeria _   
_Team was ordered to regroup at the Sandbox and boarded the flight. Crash recorded at 01:34 am local time. All team members deceased. Investigation confirms suspicion of sabotage. _   
_Case: Unsolved. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a wonderful piece of art which was created by shoyzz-art. Head on over to her tumblr post to tell her how cool it is. :D

**Art: You can find the art on shoyzz's tumblr page [here](https://shoyzz-art.tumblr.com/post/187985339453/peter-friday-said-her-voice-soft-in). Please stop by and tell [shoyzz-art](http://shoyzz-art.tumblr.com/) how amazing it is.**

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said, peeking into Peter’s room. He found him sitting in the sunshine by the window, staring down at the city. Peter had left the workshop without another word after he’d looked at his father’s file. Tony had let him go, knowing that he needed some space for a little while. He’d read the file himself, also pulling up the one for Peter’s mother. 

The last entries in both files matched. They had been on that mission together and they’d died at the end of it. Peter had been six at the time.

It was not possible for Tony to find out anything about the mission itself aside from the fact that it ended with a plane crash resulting from sabotage. He could imagine very well how Peter felt right now. He had been down the same road himself: thinking that his parents had died as a result of an accident and then finding out that they’d been murdered. He gave Peter a weak smile. “Can I come in?”

Peter nodded and Tony sat down opposite him. He knew that Peter liked this place to think and sometimes to study. He could lean back against the column behind him and the window gave him a good view of the city spreading out far below them. He could see beyond East River towards Brooklyn and Queens. However, Tony didn’t pay any attention to the view. Instead, he watched Peter’s face carefully, trying to get a clue as to his state of mind. He expected to find evidence of tears but, to his surprise, didn’t. Peter looked sad but he hadn’t cried. 

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked. 

Peter looked at him and heaved a deep breath. “I don’t know. Like … I should care more? I should be hurt or … _something_. But I’m not.” He shrugged. “It makes sense, you know. They used to work together; I knew that. For the government, they said. Sometimes, they’d drop me off at Ben and May’s to go to conferences and stuff.” He grimaced, turning to look out the window again. “I guess they didn’t. I guess they went on missions or something.” He trailed off. Tony let the silence linger until Peter sighed and said, “But I’m not hurt. They had no reason to tell me, I was still little.”

Tony didn’t say anything, waiting for Peter to continue.

Peter ducked his head, his fingers fiddling with each other on his lap. “Do you think Ben and May knew they were killed? That it was … intentional?”

“Hard to say,” Tony answered. “S.H.I.E.L.D. tended to not be quite honest with families when it came to such things.” He paused. “How do you feel about _that_? How they died.”

Peter raised a hand to wipe it down his face, shaking his head. 

Tony nodded in understanding. “You know, I thought my parents’ death was an accident for years and when I found out that it hadn’t been, I felt angry and betrayed.”

“I _am_ angry,” Peter answered, meeting his eyes. “But … it’s hard because I don’t know who to be angry at. You at least know … who did it. So, I’m just … tired.” There were tears welling up in his eyes now. “It’s just another bullet point on the list of screwed-up stuff happening to me.” He took a breath and shook his head. “That sounded pathetic. I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tony answered. “It’s true.” 

Peter wiped his eyes with his sleeve. 

Tony cleared his throat. “But you know what I admire most about you?”

“What?” Peter asked. He sounded tired, defeated.

“You _handle_ it,” Tony answered. “You handle it and you grow from it and you don’t let it keep you from being an amazing person. And you’re allowed to believe me, since I am one of the screwed-up things on your list.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re not.”

“Sure am.”

Peter sniffed, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “You’re fishing for compliments.”

Tony grinned and reached out to put his hand on the back of Peter’s neck, squeezing gently. “We’ll get past _this_, too.” He let go and cleared his throat. “I thought about all of this and first thing tomorrow, I’m gonna fire Olson.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “What? No.”

Tony frowned at him. “No?” 

“No, please don’t fire him because of _me_.”

“Peter, it’s not because of _you_. He kept secrets, he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D.-”

“Many people did. Tony, please.” Peter leaned forward, pinning Tony with a pleading look in his dark eyes. Tony felt his chest tighten. That look always was his undoing. It was unfair, really, how fast it could crash through his defenses. Peter added, “He’s good at his job, isn’t he?”

Tony pressed his lips together.

“Isn’t he?” Peter insisted.

Tony rolled his eyes, admitting, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Please, don’t fire him.”

Tony looked at Peter for a long moment, then he admitted defeat. “Under two conditions. First, I _will_ speak to him tomorrow. He came to Stark Industries after the adoption was announced and he knew your parents and he never said anything to anyone about it. I find it suspicious. Second, you are not to interact with him anymore.”

“But what if …” Peter hesitated. “What if I want to ask him stuff about my parents?”

Tony sighed. “Peter-”

“He’s the only person alive that I know who knew them. Who worked with them. And I learn so much from him.” 

Tony hesitated. 

“Tony, please. My danger-sense is not going off around him, he doesn’t want to hurt me. If he wanted to, he had a hundred opportunities already.” 

As uneasy as he felt about it, Tony couldn’t exactly deny that. He heaved a sigh. “Okay, let me speak to him. And then we’ll see.”

***

Peter woke with sweat cooling on his skin and his breathing coming in rapid bursts, his legs tangled in the comforter and his hands gripping the sheets. Vaguely, he remembered screaming Tony’s name, watching him die on the floor in Gotham Hall. This time, though, Ben and May had been there as well, watching him trying to shake Tony awake, and vaguely, in the distance, he’d seen his parents’ shadows moving towards him. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the beginning panic attack down. Curling up on his side with his back to the door, he tried to calm himself down. Of course, he knew Tony was fine, _rationally_. But some level in his subconscious still urged him to _go_ and _check_, like a six-year-old patting down the hallway in the middle of the night with a triceratops plushy pressed against his tear-stained cheeks to crawl into his aunt’s arms and feel his uncle’s chest against his back. Warm and alive and breathing. 

But he wasn’t six anymore. There shouldn’t be a necessity for him to check on Tony in person. 

Tony had said it himself: it had to stop. Peter had promised it would. His irrational side just hadn’t caught up to that yet.

“He’s fine,” he whispered. “He’s fine, he’s fine.” His chest felt tight, his breathing off. He curled up tighter, fighting against the instinct to get up and check on Tony. 

He’d promised.

_“Peter,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, her voice soft in night mode. _“Look at your nightstand.” _

Peter frowned at the ceiling in confusion and turned, his eyes going immediately to the source of light next to his bed. Peter’s tablet computer stood propped up against the lamp, as usual. It doubled as a clock during the night and its position leaning against the lamp gave Peter the perfect view of the LED clockface, should he wake up before the alarm went off. Now, however, the clockface was gone, replaced by a pulsating circle in a gentle white color. The pulses were coming in a steady rhythm, two close together, then a little pause before two more followed. 

The rhythm reminded Peter of something, but he didn’t quite know what until F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, _“It’s his heartbeat, Peter. He’s fine.” _

Now, the rhythm made sense. Peter swallowed. “It’s his heartbeat?”

_“Yes. You can access this feature as long as you need it and I’m programmed to activate it when I notice signs of distress.” _

Peter stared at the screen, at the pulsating circle and tried to match his breathing to it. His breath caught in his chest every now and again, but ever so slowly, he was able to follow the steady rhythm. His breathing calmed and he relaxed. It wasn’t as good as _seeing_ Tony breathe, as _hearing_ him, but it was _something_. 

It was just enough.

_“Boss thought it might help you.” _

Peter shifted closer to screen, his eyes on the pulsing circle while he got comfortable. “Yeah,” he said. “It does.” 

It took a while, but he felt his lids starting to droop eventually and his thoughts trailing off into darkness.

***

Tony entered the R&D floor on which Olson’s office was located in the late morning the next day. 

His unexpected appearance caused a bit of a stir that he ignored. He didn’t visit parts of his company very often, especially since Pepper had taken over as CEO, and it showed in the way the work in the labs he passed seemed to grind to a temporary hold, wide eyes watching him pass and whispered conversations following him in his wake. 

Olson’s office door was open, and Tony found him sitting at his desk and working on his computer as he knocked on the doorframe. 

Olson looked up at him, his eyes widening in surprise. “Mr. Stark.” He got up from his seat and shook Tony’s hand before gesturing towards the visitor chair in front of his desk and closing the door. 

Tony didn’t sit. When Olson noticed, he remained standing as well, looking slightly out of sorts and staring at Tony expectantly.

“I’ve been told,” Tony said slowly, pushing his suit jacket back to tuck his hands into his jeans pockets casually, “that I am a tad overprotective where Peter is concerned.”

Olson hesitated before leaning back against his desk, his arms crossed. “I think that is understandable.”

“He borrowed a book from you.”

Olson frowned in confusion. “He … I offered it to him, yes.”

Tony pulled the photograph out of his breast pocket and held it up between them. “You expect me to believe that you lend the book to him and that you forgot what was in there.” 

Olson’s eyes widened, his expression shifting to complete surprise. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t remember. I swear.”

Tony frowned at him, doubtful. “Really?” 

Olson pressed his lips together. “Listen, Mr. Stark, if I had remembered, I would have taken it out.”

Tucking the photograph back into his breast pocket, Tony drew a deep breath. “You worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. You worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. with Peter’s parents. You turn up here after my adoption plan made news.”

Olson winced. “I realize that looks really suspicious.”

Tony crossed his arms. “It does.” He paused, staring at Olson searchingly. He looked slightly nervous and very guilty, his eyes not quite able to meet Tony’s. Tony sighed. “I wanted Peter to stop seeing you. I intended to fire you.”

“But you won’t?”

“Peter asked me not to.” Tony narrowed his eyes, approaching him. “You know that I’m skeptical regarding S.H.I.E.L.D., especially since that whole HYDRA fiasco. It’s only made worse by the fact that I supplied them technology for Insight. _My name_ on weapons primed to kill innocents, _again_. How do I know that you’re not one of the bad guys?”

Olson stared at him steadily, his posture was tense, his hands curled into fists. “I can’t prove to you that I’m not HYDRA, but you might be relieved to know that I lost faith in S.H.I.E.L.D. as well.”

“And why would that be?”

“Peter didn’t tell you?” Olson asked. He ducked his head for a moment before meeting Tony’s eyes again. “I’m enhanced. I was recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. with the promise that they would help me manage it. Which they did. I was able to control it to a point where they thought I should go on missions, make use of my powers for the greater good.”

Tony tilted his head. “I bet it wasn’t all for the greater good in the end?”

Olson shook his head. “I mostly worked for the science division, as a team with Peter’s parents and a few others. We were friends.” He paused before shaking his head as if to rid himself of painful memories. “Listen, I didn’t intend for Peter to find out. Not like this, if ever. But when I read about the adoption and realized it was _him_ … I couldn’t ignore that. And Stark Industries looking for somebody to head the R&D department … it just seemed like fate.” 

Tony shook his head. “You could have _told_ me.”

“You hated me already,” Olson answered. “It didn’t seem like a smart move to tell you. I’ve been trying to prove myself in your eyes to … find the right moment.”

“What’s your enhancement?”

Olson ducked his head. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“You’ll have to if you want to keep this job.”

Olson swallowed and fiddled with the sleeve of his right hand. “First of all,” he said, looking up at Tony, “know that I have it under control.” He pushed his sleeve up a little, showing Tony a bracelet around his wrist. It was black and looked like a simple piece of jewelry, just a bit tight. There was a small red light glowing where the bracelet was nestled against the inside of Olson’s wrist.

“What the heck is that?” Tony asked.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. had its own R&D department,” Olson said. “They came up with _this_. It’s an inhibitor and it does what it says on the tin. It inhibits my powers. I am unable to use them. This kind of device was sold to other agencies dealing with enhanced people all over the world.”

Tony straightened, remembering a S.H.I.E.L.D. file he’d read a long time ago. “Isn’t there a mutant prison in Canada using these?”

“The Ice Box uses a _version_ of these. They’re worn around the neck; these are more discreet.”

“Why do you wear it?”

“It keeps me from hurting people accidentally.”

Tony stared at him. “What does that mean?”

“I am able to … influence people.”

“Mind control?”

“Not that advanced,” Olson answered. “I don’t control their minds, just their actions.”

Tony took a step back.

Olson smiled bitterly. “No worries, it only works when I touch somebody.” He ducked his head. “S.H.I.E.L.D. found it useful for interrogations and to detain dangerous individuals.”

“I’m sure they did,” Tony answered. He could see why Olson might have lost faith in S.H.I.E.L.D. Being used as a tool would do that to anyone. He cleared his throat. “Right,” he said, pressing his lips together. “You can stay.”

Olson released a breath of relief. “Thank you, Mr. Stark, really.”

“Peter will have questions.”

Olson nodded.

Tony nodded at the inhibitor. “You’ll wear that thing when you’re in the building.”

“Absolutely.” 

“And we’ll see how it goes.”

Olson nodded again, smiling. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Tony said. “If I get any indication that you’re tricking me or that your contact with Peter is harmful to him, I will not hesitate to get involved. You’re still here because _Peter_ wanted you to be.”

Olson nodded. “Understood.” 

“I’ll inform Pepper about the situation,” Tony added, “and she might have questions as well.” He tugged his jacket into place. “Be honest with me from now on.” With that he strode past Gareth and left him standing. 

***

Peter was almost sure that Harry was avoiding him. They had a class together on Mondays, but Harry hadn’t shown up for it. Following that, Peter had looked for him during lunchtime, but he wasn’t in the canteen, smoking in the schoolyard or at his usual hiding place in the library. 

“Why are you looking for him?” Cammy asked when Peter found a minute before decathlon practice to ask her and Ryan whether they’d seen Harry.

“I’m just … worried,” Peter said. It was the truth. The last time he’d seen Harry had been on Friday in that alley. Peter hadn’t tried to contact him over the weekend, wanting to give him distance. 

Ryan shrugged. “I haven’t seen him. He was supposed to be in my Spanish class today, though.”

Peter nodded in acknowledgement of that information, a flutter of nervousness settling in his stomach, as if he could _feel_ that something bad had happened. 

It was irrational, maybe. 

He hoped.

***

Tony had checked Pepper’s calendar and found that she was free over the lunch period at the earliest. So he went back to the penthouse and spent some time with Rhodey before he left to talk to her. When he exited the elevator on the executive floor of the Tower, Alex looked up from his computer. 

“Is she in?” Tony asked. 

Alex nodded quickly and removed his headset, probably already anticipating how this was going to go after Tony had just walked past him on several occasions. “Yes, but she doesn’t want to be disturbed, Mr. Stark.”

“Meeting?” 

“No.” 

“Phone call?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I think you know where I’m going,” Tony said. 

Alex jumped from his seat faster than Tony could approach Pepper’s office and planted himself in front of the door. Tony stopped in surprise at the vehemence in his voice and eyes. “With all due respect, sir, she doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

Tony was taken aback. It was normal for him to tease Alex a bit, keep him on his toes and catch him off-guard, and Alex usually reacted with nervous stuttering and blushes, but something was different about him today. It wasn’t just the fact that he kept looking at Tony steadily, as if he was ready to bodily remove him from the executive floor. He was downright protective. Tony frowned at him, concern unfolding. “What’s going on?”

“She doesn’t feel good, sir.”

The door to Pepper’s office opened from the inside, and both Tony and Alex looked at her. “It’s fine, Alex, let him in.”

Tony noticed immediately that her eyes were swimming and her cheeks reddened. She’d been crying. She turned away and headed back inside. 

Tony looked at Alex, who swallowed nervously, now apparently wondering whether he’d gone too far. “Just doing my job, sir.”

“Thank you,” Tony answered, putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could. He closed a hand around Alex’s shoulder for a moment. Alex stared at him in surprise and Tony smiled at him before entering Pepper’s office and closing the door. “He’s a good one,” he said. “You should keep him.”

“I’ve been telling you that from the start. He signed a permanent contract last month,” she answered. Pepper didn’t wear her high heels, which was extremely unusual considering she always made sure to look professional, and there was a pot with tea on the coffee table, the color suggesting that it was chamomile. She only ever drank that when she needed comfort. Pepper sat on the couch. “You want a cup?”

“No, I’m fine,” Tony answered.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Tony shrugged. “I was going to let you in on some things I’ve learned about Olson but I now I’m thinking that you should tell me what’s wrong first.” He sat next to her. 

Pepper heaved a sigh and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Norman and I broke up.”

Tony tried to hide his elation. “Oh,” he said. “Did you have a fight?”

“No, Tony. We didn’t. He just … he can’t focus on a relationship at the moment. And I can’t … I can’t deal with him when he’s …” She heaved a sigh. “I am not happy about how he handles his relationship with Harry. We had a difference of opinion and I … just couldn’t.”

Tony frowned. “Is that why I couldn’t reach you yesterday? I tried to call.”

“I saw, I’m sorry. My phone was switched off, I only saw your missed calls very late.”

“Switched off?” he asked in surprise. “You never switch your phone off.”

“I do when I’m in a hospital,” Pepper answered. 

He frowned. “A hospital? Is Norman okay?”

“He’s fine. Tony,” Pepper said and she swallowed, “it’s about Harry.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains another beautiful sketch by shoyzz-art. :D

**Art: The art was created by shoyzz-art and [this](http://shoyzz-art.tumblr.com/) is her tumblr. :)**

Peter felt slightly queasy when he entered the R&D department. It was bustling with activity, employees rushing past him to get to meetings and others huddled around workbenches in the labs branching off from the corridor. The bright neon lights were painful, Peter’s senses just as strained as his emotions. He’d thought about not coming here while Happy had picked him up at school. He’d thought about bailing and sending Gareth a text message that he wouldn’t be able to make it … and they would have both known that it would have been a lie. So Peter had steeled himself and was now knocking on Gareth’s office door. “Dr. Olson?” 

Gareth looked up from his computer, a nervous smile flickering over his face when he saw him. “Peter, hey.” 

There was a moment of silence, awkward and strained, then Peter asked softly, “Do you think we could … take a walk?”

Gareth stared at him, his blue eyes piercing, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to accept. Peter wouldn’t blame him if he wouldn’t, really. He knew Tony would be glad if that were the case. But then Gareth released a breath, as if letting go of troubling thoughts. “A walk. Definitely.” 

They didn’t speak until they reached the park, an awkward silence hanging between them. It was warm outside, though the sun was hiding behind a few clouds, but Central Park was busy as ever, tourists and citizens alike mingling on the paths. Peter and Gareth silently agreed to walk around The Pond again. This particular pathway was a little more secluded, trees providing cool shadow and the water lapping at the shore gently. They walked for a little while, not speaking. Peter tried to find the courage to speak, to push open a door to his past he’d kept valiantly closed as much as he could, while Gareth just seemed uncomfortable. 

Finally, though, he was the one to break the silence. “I’m very sorry about everything, Peter. I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said quickly, though it wasn’t really.

“It’s really not,” Gareth unknowingly agreed. He entwined his hands, fiddling nervously. “I realize that this must be a difficult topic for you. Being confronted with it like that must have been terrible.”

Peter looked up at him. “It was an accident. It’s fine.”

Humming softly, Gareth looked out over the lake before turning back to him. “Mr. Stark came to see me.” 

Peter grimaced. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Gareth answered with a chuckle. “I’m glad you have someone who cares about you that much.”

Peter nodded slowly. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket, pulling it down to tighten around his shoulders. “Yeah, he’s … he’s a good dad.”

Gareth’s eyes met his. “So … did you want to talk about something specific?” 

Peter hesitated. Too many things came to mind; too many questions he’d asked himself about his parents over the years popped up. “I don’t know. I … it’s just … the only people in my life who knew my parents up until now were my aunt and my uncle. It’s just … weird to … get used to.”

Gareth smiled gently. “You know,” he said, “we were best friends, your parents and I, before you were born and also for a couple of years after.”

Peter frowned. “I can’t remember ever meeting you.” 

“We drifted apart,” Gareth answered. “I got a job offer in Michigan to join a S.H.I.E.L.D. lab there, it’s just … we lost touch. The last time I saw you, you were three years old. It was your birthday, actually. You wouldn’t be able to remember me.” He smiled. “I got you a dinosaur plushy, a triceratops.”

Peter’s eyes widened in recognition. “I remember the plushy,” he said. Trixie had been his constant companion for years, a friend, a confidant and a safety blanket. She’d been with him when he’d learned his parents had died, had been clutched in his arms during the funeral and he hadn’t been able to go to sleep at night without her. “_You_ gave me that?”

Gareth grinned widely and he looked different somehow. More relaxed and open, a little younger. Less awkward and tired. “Yeah. Your dad used to tell me that you took it everywhere.”

Peter smiled. “Well, my mom drew the line when it came to taking her into the bathtub.”

Gareth laughed and moved to bump his shoulder against Peter’s. “You _did_ love dinosaurs back then. Science in general. Wanted to go to NYSCI all the time.”

Peter’s smile grew sad. “I remember that.” The New York Hall of Science had been his favorite place to go back then. His parents had often tried and sometimes succeeded in getting Peter to agree to do other activities as well. After they had died, Ben and May would take him there every weekend for about half a year until Peter realized that it wouldn’t bring them back and had told them he didn’t want to anymore. He’d never gone there again.

Gareth stared at him for a long moment, his expression showing grief, before he averted his gaze and cleared his throat. “Did anybody ever tell you that you look a lot like Mary?”

Peter ducked his head. “Uh … my uncle Ben used to say that I look a lot like my dad, actually.”

“Did he?” Gareth asked. “Well, Richard was his brother, so I guess he was biased.” He chuckled. “Not that I wasn’t. I knew her a lot longer than either of us knew Richard. We went to college together. Got recruited into S.H.I.E.L.D. together.”

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” Gareth shook his head, his eyes glazed over with a distant, fond look. “Man, we used to get into a lot of trouble during our college years.” He laughed. “I’ve got a lot of stories, if you wanna hear them.”

Peter grinned at him. “Yes. I do.” 

***

Rhodey headed back to the Compound after Tony returned from Pepper’s, extracting a promise from Tony to bring Peter by for a few days over the summer holidays. It was an easy promise to make.

While Tony prepared lasagna for dinner, he went over the information Pepper had given him regarding Harry, trying to find the best words to tell Peter that Harry had apparently tried to kill himself. Norman and Pepper had found him when they’d returned from dinner together, lying motionless in the tub of the master bedroom in Norman’s apartment, an empty bottle of pills on the floor.

_“If he hadn’t done it there, Tony, we wouldn’t have found him,”_ Pepper had said, wiping tears from her eyes. _“It would have been too late.” _

Tony knew it wasn’t Harry’s first attempt at suicide, had actually been against Peter befriending Harry for that very reason at the start. He remembered being callous after the first time it had happened and even though he had never said anything untoward to Norman, he felt ashamed for it now, because he _understood_ what it meant to have a child in hospital, holding on to life by the tips of their fingers. He knew the hurt and the guilt it caused. And he felt sympathy as a result, had even reached out to Norman by writing a short e-mail. He was aware that Norman wasn’t prone to showing his love for his son, he was very similar to Tony’s own father in that regard, but he also knew that Norman _did_ actually care. 

A lot. 

He had just put the lasagna in the oven when F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced that Peter had entered the elevator. He waited by the kitchen island, steeling himself for the conversation he would have to have with him. 

Peter stepped into the penthouse with a wide smile. “Hey, Tony.”

“Hey, kid,” he answered, forcing an answering smile. He already felt guilty for having to crush Peter’s good mood. “Sorry, I couldn’t pick you up from school.”

“It’s fine. Happy was there. And I know you said I could skip the internship if I wanted but I went to see Dr. Olson.” He dropped his backpack by the kitchen island and peered into the oven. “We went for a walk, talked about my parents. Dr. Olson used to know them really well.” He turned back to Tony. “He actually went to college with my mom, so he had loads of stories about her and I …” He trailed off, his smile dimming all of a sudden. “What’s wrong?”

“What?” Tony asked, crossing his arms. 

“You’re looking at me as if something’s wrong,” Peter said. “I thought we agreed that I could see Dr. Olson.”

“It’s not about that, Peter. Come here.” Tony put an arm around Peter’s shoulders when he was in reach and led him to the dining table, both of them settling into chairs. Tony took a deep breath. “I need to tell you something, Peter. It’s pretty serious.”

Peter’s eyes widened, his face paling at an alarming speed. “Is it about you? Is it something with your heart?”

“No, no, no,” Tony said quickly, taking one of Peter’s wrists and squeezing reassuringly. “Nothing like that.” He cleared his throat. “It’s about Harry.”

Peter froze. “What about Harry?” he asked softly. 

“He … he overdosed on pills. He’s okay, Norman got him to a hospital in time. He’ll recover. But … he won’t return to Rochester Academy for the rest of the school year … if ever.”

Peter stared at him. “But … I don’t …”

“Nobody knows whether … it was an accident or … intentional. He won’t speak to anyone. He’ll be transferred to a … specialized clinic today.”

“A rehab clinic?” Peter asked.

“Yes.” 

Peter nodded, his eyes avoiding Tony’s as he withdrew his hand from Tony’s grip and entwined his fingers. His shoulders hunched forward a little and he bit his lip. 

Tony watched his face carefully, recognizing the guarded expression Peter had in place. “Do you want to talk about this, Peter?”

“I …” Peter hesitated. “I knew he was taking pills again,” he said, finally, softly. “I … I knew.”

“You _knew_?” Tony asked with a frown.

Peter nodded and met Tony’s eyes again, tears hovering in his eyes. “I told him to tell his dad, but he wouldn’t. Last week, I caught him with a few guys who he owed money to, I guess, and I … I said that he has to tell his dad, or I would.” He paused, a horrified expression sliding onto his face. “Do you think that he … that he overdosed because I was forcing him-”

“No, Peter,” Tony said firmly. “Don’t do this to yourself. Harry is a … he has issues. They’re not your responsibility _or_ your fault. You tried to be a good friend to him.” He pushed one of his hands through Peter’s hair, tugging on it gently. “It’s not your fault, okay?”

Peter looked conflicted and ducked his head, his hands clenching tightly around each other. “Is he gonna be okay?”

Tony noticed that Peter hadn’t answered his question, but he chose to let it go. “Physically, he’s good. Mentally … I don’t know, Peter. If the overdose was intentional, it’s his second attempt and … I just don’t know.”

“Can you ask Mr. Osborn if I can see him?”

Tony nodded slowly. “I’ll write an e-mail.” 

***

_“Who introduced the theory of punctuated equilibrium?” _

Peter bit the straw peeking out of his empty coke cup thoughtfully. “Niles Eldredge and Stephen Gould.” 

_“Correct,”_ Suit Lady answered. _“A polynomial with two terms is called?” _

“A binomial.”

_“Very good.”_ She paused. _“Those were all the questions you uploaded into my database, Peter.” _

Peter sighed, his eyes surveying the Queens neighborhood spread out below him carefully, sometimes lingering on where the 25A and the 678 merged in the distance. It had become dark a while ago, the streets lit by lamps, car headlights and the glow spilling out of the windows. Peter was still able to see perfectly, his powers giving him a little more than 20/20 vision, the lenses of his mask helping where even his eyes failed. “How long have we been practicing?” 

_“Two hours. Would you like to start anew?” _

“No, it’s fine.” He set the empty cup down and sighed. He’d been sitting on the rooftop of this hotel for a while, just looking out over Flushing to maybe catch a glimpse of the strange lights indicating an arms deal going down. He’d been through the web-shooter tutorial twice in that time and through the decathlon flashcards from his computer once. He was bored out of his mind. “Suit Lady, when do I have to head home?”

_“In an hour, Peter.” _

He shook his head, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “This is a bust.”

_“Better luck next time.” _

“At least I got my decathlon practice in.” His phone vibrated against his stomach and the HUD displayed the message just a moment later. Ned had sent him a short YouTube clip and when Peter asked Suit Lady to play it, he saw himself in the suit chatting with Tim at the hot dog stand just a couple of days ago, and then reaching out to catch the glass bottle flying towards his head. 

_He didn’t even look!!!_ Ned’s excited caption read. 

Peter smiled gently and made a mental note to answer once he arrived home. Heaving another deep sigh of defeat, he accepted that he would not make any progress tonight and rose to stretch … and that was when he saw it. 

A green lightning bolt flashing and stretching up into the sky. 

It lasted for two seconds at the most and then was gone again. But he’d seen where it had originated from and Suit Lady marked the place of origin without being prompted. 

“Got them.” He pulled his mask down to cover his triumphant grin and ran to jump off the roof. “Map the route.”

The navigation popped up on his HUD just a moment later. The light’s origin wasn’t far away. He zipped down College Point Boulevard and arched high to cross over the 25A and the 678, past warehouses and industrial buildings into the run-down residential area just behind. He veered off sharply to the left and landed on a rooftop near the river, overlooking a parking lot. There was a van parked there and three men gathered at the open back doors. Two of them were shaking hands before one broke away, heading for a car with a bulky-looking thing in his hands. 

Peter was tempted to jump in and stop him, to take them all down right now, but he cautioned himself. These two were obviously handlers for the _actual_ arms dealer. If he waited just long enough, they would drive the van back to their headquarters. 

Sure, enough, they waited until their customer had left before looking around furtively and getting into the van. Peter jumped off a streetlight onto the sidewalk, slipping into the shadows of an alley. 

_“Peter, I have to recommend that you make your way home soon,”_ Suit Lady said.

“No,” he answered, his voice hushed. “I’m _this_ close to finding their evil lair.”

_“Should I mute notifications, then?” _

“Yes.” 

_“I should inform you, though, that I will contact Boss in case I predict you will run late.” _

Peter glanced at the HUD’s clock in the upper right corner and gritted his teeth. “Fine.” 

That still gave him around thirty minutes. 

The van left the parking lot and turned to drive past Peter. He jumped and attached himself to the backdoor before climbing onto the roof, trying not to make a sound. Pressing himself flat against the metal, he rested his ear against it and focused to try and hear the occupants. 

_“Should I activate enhanced reconnaissance mode?”_ Suit Lady asked.

“Oh, right, I’ve got that,” Peter whispered, his eyes widening. “Yes, please.” His sight shifted and he was suddenly able to see the two passengers in the cabin below him lit up red by an infrared camera, while their voices filtered into his mask. 

_“… undersold it.” _

_“It was a piece of crap. We would have never been able to get more for it than we did.” _

_“The boss won’t like it.” _

Peter’s breath caught. “Can you record this?”

_“Of course.” _

_“… is a small player. We’re chickenshit compared to what’s out there, if Jackson’s to be believed.” _

_“Is he ever?” _

The van turned a corner and then entered the small parking lot of an abandoned warehouse right by Flushing Bay, where it stopped. The engine idled as one of the guys got out and heaved the large door open. Peter caught a glimpse of lights inside and shadows of people moving, soft music filtering out, and he waited for the guy to get back into the van before he stood and shot a web to pull himself onto the roof of the warehouse. 

The infrared image of his HUD showed four people moving around inside. The two in the van got out, approached by a third, while the fourth person sat in a corner. Peter found a window in the roof and opened it carefully, crawling inside to linger in the rafters. “Deactivate reconnaissance,” he whispered. His view filtered back to normal and he saw that the old warehouse had been repurposed. 

There was an area of what looked like scrap metal set up near a few workbenches, one of which was occupied by a slightly overweight man in a blue overall bent over a device that looked similar to the one Peter had confiscated in Hell’s Kitchen. A couple of couches and armchairs were strewn about towards the back near a fridge and a microwave, which was balanced precariously on a rackety table. The TV was running, one of the van’s occupants, a short man who was built like a brick, dropping onto the couch and starting to surf through the channels. 

His partner was taller, with a bald head and muscled arms, and he was talking to another man who had his back turned towards Peter. He seemed to be older than all the others, though, his short hair already gray. When he spoke, his voice sounded sharp. “That was quick.”

“Suit Lady,” Peter whispered, “can you do facial recognition for everyone in here?”

_“Only the ones in my field of vision, Peter.” _

“Okay, do that.”

“… didn’t want to pay much,” the bald man said. “Maybe the market’s drying up, boss.”

Peter shifted, getting ready to jump down and take the guys out. 

“Maybe,” the boss said, “you’re a shitty negotiator.”

“Or maybe,” another man who just entered the warehouse answered, “you should have taken Umbra’s offer.” 

Peter froze, clinging to the rafters to assess the situation anew. 

“Maybe he’s blacklisting us or something because you turned him down.” The new guy was tall, taller than the boss, and had a wild dark beard and a mean face. He was glaring at the boss, holding a motorcycle helmet in his hands. 

The boss scoffed and turned in Peter’s direction, but his head was down. “Umbra,” he said, putting on what looked like a fighter pilot’s helmet. It obscured a clear view of his face when he finally lifted his head to look at the new arrival. “That guy’s a psycho, leaving bodies up and down the river, and you think I wanna have a part in that? Definitely not.” 

Peter’s heart skipped a beat and he whispered, “What?” 

“And you’re late. Again. Derrick had to do your run for you.”

Motorcycle guy shrugged. “Great, it was time Derrick pulled his god damn weight.”

“Hey,” Derrick said, turning away from the TV for just a second to glare at him. “I pull my weight just fine. Without needing one of those things to scare people.” He turned back to the screen. “_Shocker_,” he scoffed. 

Peter swallowed. The guy with the beard, the motorcycle guy … he was the one who’d equipped the fundraiser’s attackers. The guy who knew _someone_ who wanted the mayor dead. 

Shocker shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Well, Umbra pays better, at least.” 

The boss paused in zipping up a heavy-looking leather jacket and turned back around to him. “Well, if that’s the case, you can go and work for him. You’re fired.”

Shocker stared at him, his eyes wide in shock. “Are you serious?”

“I should have been serious half a year ago already. Get out.”

Shocker’s face twisted into ugly anger and he looked about ready to attack … but then he just slammed his helmet against the van as he headed for the door. “You’ll regret this.” 

Peter had to make a decision and quick … he had the arm’s dealers right at his fingertips, that much was clear, but Shocker seemed to know the guy who was responsible for the victims that had been found on the shore over the last few weeks. 

Victims like the young woman Peter had found. 

He decided to go after Shocker first. He couldn’t lose him. 

Peter was quick to climb up onto the roof again, watching Shocker making his way over to a motorcycle. 

“Suit Lady, interrogation mode.” 

Before Shocker could reach his motorcycle, Peter shot a web at one of the broken lamps strewn about the parking lot and swung, catching Shocker around his chest and forcing him back against the chainlink fence surrounding the property before pinning his hands there with webbing. 

“What the fuck?” Shocker asked, staring at him with wide eyes. “Who _are_ you?”

“Tell me about Umbra.” Peter was again startled by his suddenly deep and rough voice, but he managed not to show it. He stepped back and squared his shoulders, his hands balled into fists … trying to mimic Daredevil when he was at his moodiest.

However, that didn’t make a difference for Shocker, who stared at him for a moment and then started to laugh. “Are you _serious_? Is that supposed to scare me?”

Peter didn’t allow the discourage he felt to show and instead took another page out of Daredevil’s book, hitting the chainlink fence right next to Shocker’s head. His fist went right through the fence and Peter grinned in satisfaction when Shocker startled enough to lose his grin. “Who _is_ he?”

Shocker’s mouth settled into a stubborn line, his dark eyes glaring at him. “Do your homework yourself, Darth Vader.”

Peter clenched his fists and turned away, taking a deep breath to think. “Deactivate interrogation,” he whispered and turned back to the Shocker. Maybe reasoning with him would be a better way to go. “Listen, whoever that guy is, he’s killing people.”

Shocker paused, staring at him for a few moments, before he laughed. “Fuck, you sound like you’re twelve.”

Peter ignored him. “If you don’t help me find him, you’re practically an accomplice to murder!”

Shocker scoffed. 

Peter pressed his lips together and wanted to turn away again, this time for good, when Shocker said, “Wait. You wanna know why he kills them?”

Nodding eagerly, Peter stepped closer to him.

Shocker grinned manically, his dark eyes showing something like sick mirth. “’Cause they’re circus freaks,” he said softly, “and they’re dumb enough to serve themselves on a silver platter.” He grinned widely. “Just like you.”

Peter’s danger-sense shrieked, and he ducked, turning as he leapt to the side. He saw the glint of metal claws just barely missing his face and rolled to get back to his feet, standing to face whoever had attacked him. It was a man wearing a fighter pilot’s helmet, the eyes in his goggles glinting green. He wore a thick leather jacket and a contraption around his chest which supported two huge metal wings with sharp edges. They tilted, rotors becoming visible in their span, and the low hum of their engines echoed around the parking lot. 

It was the gang’s boss. He looked like a massive bird … Peter felt reminded of a vulture due to the fur lining the jacket’s collar around the guy’s neck. 

When he flew at Peter again, he moved his feet, slashing the claws attached to his shoes towards him menacingly. Peter jumped to the side and threw two webs at him, pulling with all his might and managing to get the man off track, sending him careening against a lamppost and to the ground. Peter ran towards him … just to lose touch with the ground. He yelped in surprise as he was suddenly airborne and saw the bald man pointing some form of device at him, its forked front end spilling blue energy that wrapped around Peter’s limbs like chains. He moved the device downward in a jerky motion and Peter was slammed into the ground. He gasped, felt himself being lifted again and slammed down a second time, a third, a … he pressed his palm against the concrete, managing to stick to the brittle asphalt so he wouldn’t be lifted another time and used his other hand to shoot a web at Shocker’s motorcycle. He pulled it forward and knocked the bald guy off his feet when it collided with his back. 

The energy field vanished, and he only needed another two seconds to web the man to the ground, turning immediately to snatch a gun out of Derrick’s hands with another web. He snagged his feet as well and pulled, making him lose his balance, his head cracking against the ground hard enough to knock him out. 

Peter turned back to the boss just in time to jump and avoid being sliced open by one of the wings. “Taser webs,” he bit out as the boss righted himself and went for Peter again. The web hit him in the thigh, the electrical discharge causing him to scream out in pain, veering off course. 

Peter didn’t wait for him to fall, jumping on one of his wings instead and kicking the rotor blades out of it to clatter to the ground. He avoided crashing to the ground along with the boss by jumping, and rolled to get back to his feet, landing in a crouch as he assessed the situation. Shocker and the bald guy were still pinned, and Derrick was still knocked out. 

There was no sign of the overweight man he’d seen inside. 

The boss was climbing to his feet slowly, the smoke from his ruined wing encasing him and making him look like a creature straight from somebody’s worst nightmare. Peter didn’t give him the chance to collect himself fully, running towards him and using his normal webs to slow the rotor blades in the other wing down before ripping the engine out with his hand. A punch to the guy’s sternum made him stumble back and fall and Peter shot webs at his wrists to pin him to the ground, standing over him as he caught his breath. “You just fired the guy,” he gasped, “and now you’re protecting him?”

“I’m protecting my business!” the boss spat back. 

Sirens echoed down the street, blue lights flashing. Apparently, they’d caught somebody’s attention.

“Crap,” Peter whispered. He took a step back when two police cars sped onto the property and raised his hands as officers jumped out of the cars with their guns raised. “Don’t shoot!” 

The officers stared at him, clearly undecided.

Peter stepped towards them slowly, smiling and hoping that the gesture would show, _somehow_, through his mask. “They’re down. They’re the guys selling alien weapons in the city. I think you were looking for them?”

One of the officers lowered his gun. “I’ll be damned.”

“The evidence is in the warehouse,” Peter said. He glanced at the boss and then back at the officers. 

Three were still pointing guns at him.

“Get down on your knees, freak,” one of them was yelling.

“I caught them for you,” Peter answered.

Peter’s danger-sense reacted, and the sound of a gunshot snapped through the parking lot. There was a burning pain in his calf but as he stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet, he realized that his danger-sense had actually saved him from being shot in the stomach. 

“Down, now!”

He crouched … and then jumped, shooting a web at a lamp post to swing over the surprised officers. A bullet whizzed past him and he yelped, quickly retreating onto a nearby rooftop and running away from the parking lot. 

He didn’t stop until he was several blocks away, his heart pounding and his eyes tearing up at the increasing pain in his calf. He looked down and saw blood trickle freely down his leg, staining the bright, cheery red of the material dark. “Ouch.” 

_“Peter, the suit was punctured.” _

“Yeah, thanks,” he groaned. “Me, too.” He hissed a breath and looked around. He was standing on top of a residential home. There was a scraggly garden and in it, some clothes had been hung up to dry. “I’m sorry,” he said when he took a t-shirt, ripping a stripe off to bind it around the wound. He climbed the roof again and gave himself a moment. 

_“You should seek medical attention.” _

“Yeah, I will. Just need to get home.”

_“Should I call Mr. Stark for you?” _

“No, I’ll swing. It’s faster.”

Suit Lady sounded concerned when she said, _“But you’re injured.” _

He laughed softly, wincing in pain. “Don’t need my leg for swinging.” He jumped off the roof and started to swing, his pace leisurely for now to make sure his leg really wasn’t bothering him.

Suit Lady was quiet until they reached Queensboro Bridge. _“I think you did very good tonight, Peter.” _

He was weirdly touched by the sentiment and allowed himself to feel proud despite the fact that he hadn’t found out the identity of the serial killer. “Thank you.”

_“I’m afraid, though, that you’re going to miss curfew. I have informed Boss accordingly.” _

“Yeah, I thought so,” Peter answered with a resigned groan, his HUD starting to flash red as his estimated time of arrival at the penthouse went past twelve. “Can you let Tony know that I’m on my way?”

_“Done.” _

“Thanks.” His leg twinged in pain and he hissed.

_“Are you okay?”_ she asked immediately.

“I’m fine.” He sighed. “Did Tony program you to be like that?”

_“To be like what?” _

He hummed softly, trying to find the right words. “To care so much.”

It took a moment for her to answer. _“I am programmed as a support to you, Peter. I_ do _care.” _

He smiled, a thought coming to him all of a sudden. “Karen,” he said. “Would you like being called Karen?” 

_“Karen,”_ she replied. _“That sounds perfect.” _


	10. Chapter 10

“It’s fine,” Peter said, yelping when Tony pressed a thick piece of gauze against the wound in his calf. “Ow.” 

“Not so fine, then?” Tony asked and rifled through the first aid kit. His face was set into a tense expression, his eyebrows furrowed. In the bright lights of the kitchen, he looked pale. 

Peter shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. He was sitting on the kitchen island, his injured leg resting on a towel spread on the marble of the countertop, wearing a hoodie jacket and his boxer shorts. The suit was a crumpled heap in the corner. Getting out of it had been painful, but necessary to clean the wound properly. 

Peter lifted the gauze a little to look at the injury, wincing. “It’ll heal quick,” Peter answered. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

Tony hummed, still looking tense and kind of angry, and wrapped a bandage around Peter’s calf. 

Peter withdrew his hand to give him some space and leaned back a little. “I didn’t think they’d shoot.”

Releasing an exasperated sigh, Tony answered, “Whenever someone points a gun at you, please _expect_ them to shoot.” He finished with the bandage and looked at his handiwork for a moment before he took off the gloves and started to clean up, swiping bloody pieces of gauze into the trash and sorting gauze, bandages and disinfectant into the first aid kit. “I know you think that all cops are on your side, but they aren’t. Not all of them, not at the moment. Enhanced people are feared, some people hate them. Even police officers. And the fact that the Registration Act is on hold is only making things worse.”

Peter ducked his head, moving his leg off the counter when Tony nudged it gently. “I know.”

“Then act like it,” Tony replied, anger bleeding into his voice. “Peter, they could have really hurt you tonight, killed you or taken off your mask. Do you have any idea what that could have meant?”

“How was I supposed to know they’d turn up and shoot at me?”

“You shouldn’t have taken on a bunch of arms dealers on your own in the first place. You should have called me.” 

Peter scoffed. “I totally managed.”

Tony slammed the lid of the first aid kit shut. “Peter, that’s not my point. I don’t want you going out there, taking on serial killers or arms dealers before you turn twenty-one. You are supposed to deal with small stuff, get some practice in, be the-”

“Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” Peter finished Tony’s sentence and rolled his eyes. “Ugh.” 

“Excuse me?” Tony crossed his arms, his eyebrows drawing together. “Did you just ‘ugh’ me?”

Peter heaved a breath, trying to find the words to explain. “I want to help where I can, Tony. I can’t just _ignore_ these things happening. I saw a lead and I took it and maybe it went a little sideways, but I managed. Those arms dealers are in jail now because of me. _And_ I got that serial killer’s name. Or at least _a_ name. Something to go on.”

Tony deflated with a sigh, his shoulders slumping. He wiped one hand over his face tiredly. “God, this is harder than I thought.”

“What?” Peter asked, frowning. “Raising a kid?”

“Raising a hero,” Tony answered without missing a beat. 

Peter felt his cheeks flush, ducking his head in embarrassment. It was strange to be referred to as a hero. He felt that word belonged to people like Tony, like Captain America, the Avengers in general. He was far away from being one of them.

When he raised his head again, Tony was looking at him, his dark eyes earnest. “I’m not trying to ruin your life, Peter. I’m trying to keep you safe, or as safe as possible.” 

Peter grimaced. “That’s unfair. You can’t pull the dad card on Spider-Man.” 

“Sure I can,” Tony said. “Because I’m the first superhero raising a superhero, so I get to define the rules of how that’s working.”

Peter flopped backwards, the hard countertop digging into his shoulder blades as he stared at the ceiling. “Ugh.” 

Tony chuckled and nudged his knee as he passed to put the first aid kit away. “Get into your pajamas, I’ll rustle up a snack for you.”

When Peter returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, Tony was stirring eggs into a pan, bacon sizzling in a second one. Orange juice and a glass had been set out on the kitchen island and Peter settled into one of the chairs. 

“So, what _is_ that guy’s name?” Tony asked. 

Peter poured himself some juice. “Umbra.” 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., run that name through the DODC database, would you?”

_“Right away,”_ F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. It only took her a few seconds to answer, _“There are no records of an individual named Umbra in the DODC’s database. Do you want me to open a new file?” _

“Please do,” Tony said. “And let the director know I’ll call him in the morning with the details.” He looked at Peter in warning. “Let the DODC handle this.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered.

***

“Dr. Olson?” Peter asked, peaking his head into the office. There was a steaming mug of coffee on the desk and Gareth’s bookbag slung over the back of the chair, but no sign of the man himself. Peter entered slowly and put the book he’d borrowed on Gareth’s desk, intending to leave immediately and join Tony in the garage to be dropped off at school. 

However, he paused at the sight of a bracelet lying on the desktop. He remembered Tony mentioning that Gareth wore it to suppress his powers and picked it up carefully to look at it. It was black, very subtle, made of something that felt and looked like plastic. It was sturdy, but not even half an inch thick. There was no clasp, but the bracelet was wide enough to easily fit over a balled fist, way too loose to fit around a wrist. Maybe it was broken. 

Peter went back to the door and quickly looked up and down the corridor. Gareth was nowhere to be seen, so he ducked back inside the office and positioned himself with his back to the glass door and wall. Then, he slid the bracelet over his wrist. It hung loosely for a second, then a red light on the inside of Peter’s wrist lit up and he yelped when the bracelet tightened painfully, loosening just enough again to not cut off his blood flow. 

He felt dizzy all of a sudden, his vision starting to swim and the sounds of everything around him – the AC, the people talking to each other in the kitchenette two doors down, the hum of electricity in the neon lamps hanging from the ceiling – vanished, until only the silence of Gareth’s office surrounded him and all he could hear was the soft ticking of the clock on the wall above the door. And even that sound was muted, unusually low with how close it was. 

Peter blinked and shook his head, his vision not clearing up in the least. He could barely see, and he couldn’t hear properly, and suddenly, he felt so vulnerable his breathing started to hitch in his chest. 

His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the bracelet, trying to open it, but he couldn’t get his fingers between the material and his skin and was thus unable to get any kind of leverage that he could use to pry it to open again. His nails scratched against his skin and he backed himself into a corner, huddling there protectively while his breathing got more out of control, tears starting to hover in his eyes. 

Movement at the door caught his attention and a person entered, then froze. 

Peter hated that he couldn’t see their face, almost like back when he’d still needed glasses … the bracelet was apparently not broken after all, he realized, had taken his perfect sight, his superhuman hearing, probably everything else as well. 

“Peter?” That was Gareth’s voice. 

He flinched when the blurred person approached and crouched in front of him, trying to rear back and hitting his head against the wall. He felt insecure and scared because he was unable to see Gareth’s face and gauge his reaction to seeing Peter use the bracelet, because he felt like he had back before the bite: small and scrawny and half-blind and he remembered the bullies in middle school, being shoved into walls and lockers with such startling clarity, as if losing his powers was giving him back everything he’d hated about himself. 

“Hey, hey, hold still. Let me.” Gentle hands took his wrist and there was a clicking sound before the bracelet was removed. 

Peter closed his eyes and pressed back against the wall, trying to even out his breathing. Slowly, his hearing returned. When he opened his eyes, he had to blink a few times, but his vision also cleared slowly but surely. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you okay?” Gareth asked, his face pulled into a worried frown. He was still crouched in front of him.

“Yeah.” Peter looked down at his wrist, where his fingers had scratched the skin raw, and he winced. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine, Peter. No harm done.”

“What the hell is going on here?” They both turned towards Tony, who was standing in the door with a hard expression on his face, his dark eyes zeroing in on Gareth. “What are you doing?”

Gareth stood, tugging his lab coat into place. He took a step away from Peter, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Nothing.” 

Tony stepped towards him and Peter quickly rose, moving into his path. “Tony, it’s fine. It was my fault. I checked out the bracelet and it latched onto me, but now everything’s fine. It was all me.”

Still looking at Gareth with a frown edged into his forehead, Tony curled his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine. I was stupid, it was my fault.” He looked back at Gareth. “I’m sorry, Dr. Olson.”

“It’s okay, Peter, really.” He found Tony’s eyes and gave an uneasy smile. “These things are almost impossible to remove by yourself without a key,” he said, holding up what looked like a silver pen with a button at one end. “Peter just panicked a bit when he couldn’t remove it.”

Tony’s voice was angry when he said, “_You’re_ supposed to wear that thing.”

“I _am_,” Gareth answered slowly, tugging the sleeve of his lab coat up to show another bracelet around his wrist. “This is my back-up. It’s been on the fritz; I was going to try and fix it today.”

Tony stared at him for a long moment, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of that. Finally, he turned, leading Peter towards the door. “Let’s go or you’re going to be late for school.”

Peter nodded, turning his head to look back over his shoulder. “Thank you, Dr. Olson.”

“No problem, Peter. See you later.”

Tony was still tense when they entered the elevator.

“It was an accident,” Peter said. “He wasn’t even in the room when it happened.”

“Just stop, Peter, I just … really don’t trust the guy.”

Peter shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, scuffing his sneakers against the floor.

“You okay?” Tony asked, his voice softer now. 

Peter shrugged. “It was scary, that’s all. I always thought I remembered what it was like before I got my powers, but I just realized that I don’t. Not really.” He lowered his head. 

“What’s the matter?” Tony asked as the doors slid open on the lowest level of the garage, which was set aside for the Avengers. It was almost empty, only two black cars Happy used, Pepper’s private car – an electric blue convertible –, and Tony’s grey e-tron parked close together. 

“I just wonder … if that’s how _he_ always feels,” Peter answered, “how does he stand wearing that thing? How does he stand being separated from his powers? They’re a part of him.”

Tony hummed thoughtfully. “You separated yourself from Spider-Man for a year, Peter. Isn’t that the same?”

Peter looked at him. “I guess.” He sighed. “It just … it didn’t feel good.”

***

Peter generally left his phone muted during school. He saw that Ned had messaged him while he hurried from History to PE, but he didn’t have the time to read it and only sat down to open their chat during lunch. 

_Liz’s dad got arrested last night. _

Peter froze, his heart skipping a beat. He looked around the busy canteen, smiling at Ryan and Cammy as they passed him and then slowly tapped out a response. 

_What for? _

He knew that Midtown High was currently also on lunch break, so he wasn’t surprised when his phone rang almost immediately and Ned started speaking without uttering a greeting, _“So, Liz didn’t turn up in school today and Cindy texted her and she told her. It’s insane.” _

“Ned, what did he get arrested _for_?” Peter asked, lowering his voice to not be overheard.

_“So, you know about those guys going ‘round ripping ATMs out of walls?” _

Peter’s stomach sank. “Yeah?” 

_“The tech they’re using, the alien tech … he supplied them with it. Like, Liz doesn’t know much by now, but the police was at her place, like,_ really _late last night and searched the house and questioned her and her mom and apparently, he’s been dealing with alien weapons, and you wanna know the craziest part?” _

Peter pushed his tray away, the smell of fish sticks and the greasy oil they used for the fries made him feel nauseous all of a sudden. He could already imagine what Ned was going to say next.

_“Spider-Man was the one to get him.” _

There was only one person in the Vulture’s group whose face Peter _hadn’t_ seen and that was the face of the boss – the Vulture himself. Peter’s hands started to tremble, and he balled them into fists to hide it.

Liz’s dad was the Vulture.

_“Anyway, we want to go over there tonight and, like, show our support for Liz, distract her or something. Are you in?” _

He’d been the one to arrest Liz’s dad. 

Liz’s dad had tried to kill him.

_“Peter?” _

He pulled himself out of his thoughts. “Uh … yeah. I mean … we-we should. I’ll ask Tony.” 

Oh God, he would have to tell Tony.

_“You can sleep at my place. My dad can drop you off at school on his way to work.” _

“Okay, I’ll … I’ll get back to you. Gotta go.” He hung up and the phone clattered onto the table. He’d messed up. He’d messed up badly. 

Or had he? 

Was it even _right_ to feel guilty, considering he’d taken the Vulture out because he was selling alien weapons, which was _illegal_? He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he? If Liz knew what he’d done, though … he took his phone and opened his chat with her, shakily typing a message. 

_I heard about your dad. I’m sorry. _

She didn’t answer until two hours later. _Thanks, Peter. _

He stared at the message for a long time while he walked from the school to the parking lot, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. She had no idea that he’d been the one to catch her father. He’d been the one to cause this situation. 

He looked up at Tony as he approached him and Tony, leaning back against his car with his sunglasses on and a leather jacket casually thrown on over a graphic t-shirt, grinned. “So I thought,” he said, “how about we go driving this afternoon? I know the perfect place.”

Peter swallowed. “I … can we reschedule? Ned asked me to come over and stay the night.”

Tony frowned. “You know the rules, Peter. It’s a school night, no sleepovers.”

“Yeah, but his dad works really close to here, so he can drop me off in the morning.”

“Still.” 

“Tony,” Peter whispered, looking up at him miserably. “The guy selling the alien weapons, the … the guy from yesterday, the Vulture … it’s Liz’s dad.”

Tony stared at him, his eyes unreadable through the sunglasses, but he looked stunned. “Come again?”

“The winged guy … it’s Adrian Toomes, Liz’s dad.”

Tony looked around them quickly. “Get in the car,” he said and walked around to the driver’s side. 

Peter settled into the passenger seat, clutching his backpack against his chest. He still felt nauseous, a heavy weight pressing down on his chest. Guilt. For not feeling guilty.

Tony took off his sunglasses. “You’re telling me that the man you delivered to the police last night is the father of one of your friends?”

Peter nodded miserably. “And we want to go over to her place tonight to just … hang out. Make her feel better and she lives really close to Ned, so ...” 

“And you think you can do that?” Tony asked. “Make her feel better? _You_ were the one who arrested him.”

“I know,” Peter answered, swallowing down what felt like a lump in his throat.

“How do you feel?”

“I’ve got no clue,” Peter said, wiping a hand down his face. “I feel guilty, but I also think that I did the right thing? I mean …” He shook his head. “How am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to go over there and look her in the eye and _know_ that I did this to her?”

“Okay, you need to put this into perspective,” Tony said firmly. “You should _not_ feel guilty. He is a _criminal_.”

“He is her _dad_.”

“And she’s a smart girl. I’m sure she understands that he has to be held responsible for his crimes.”

Peter took a deep breath. “The worst thing is that she doesn’t know it was me. I have to look her in the eye and …” He shook his head. “What am I supposed to do?”

Tony hummed thoughtfully. “You could tell her that you’re Spider-Man.”

Peter shook his head. “She’d hate me.”

Tony grimaced. “Hard to say. It’s a tough decision, Peter.”

He thought about it, for a good minute. Telling her would mean letting another person in on his secret, a secret that needed to be kept. He wasn’t sure she would. Not considering what Spider-Man had done to her family. On the other hand, Tony was right: Liz probably knew that her father had done something illegal, that he had to be held accountable. Still … even if she understood that, she would probably be hurt by learning Peter had caught him. “I can’t,” he said. “I can’t do that to her right now.”

“Okay,” Tony said with a nod. “That’s fine, Peter.” He started the engine. “And of course you can go over to Ned’s under these circumstances. It’s fine. We’ll swing by the Tower and I can take you there.”


	11. Chapter 11

The mood at Liz’s place was subdued, as expected. Her mother looked like she’d cried a lot when she opened the door for Peter and Ned. 

It was MJ who suggested that they should go out and get something to eat, and they ended up at a Pizza Hut at the corner table, talking about movies and school. Liz was quiet, not really participating beyond a short response here or there or the shadow of a smile. She looked preoccupied and lost in thought, staring out the window and watching people pass by on the sunny street. Abraham and Ned did a good job of keeping the conversation going, while Cindy was the one to encourage Liz to finish her pizza and MJ sat in the corner, quiet. Peter didn’t talk much, either, his chest feeling heavy with guilt. 

When they left the restaurant, Abraham and Cindy said their goodbyes to take the subway together, while MJ, Ned and Peter walked Liz home. MJ and Ned fell behind slightly, both texting their parents to ask to be picked up, while Peter remained beside Liz.

“I’m really sorry about your dad,” he said softly, not sure whether he should breach the subject at all. But saying nothing felt wrong, somehow.

“Thanks,” Liz answered. She crossed her arms, sniffing softly.

“How are you?”

“I don’t know. I mean …” She huffed a bitter laugh. “It’s his own fault, you know. He did _do_ those things and they were illegal, so I get … I get why they would arrest him, but …” She sniffed again and Peter noticed a sheen of tears in her dark eyes. “I don’t know how to feel.” She wiped her eyes. “He did lie to us for years, apparently. But he did all these things to give us a good life.” She shook her head. “He’s not a bad guy,” she said, a tear falling down her cheek. “Not really. But …” She looked at him. “You know, I don’t blame Spider-Man for … he was doing his job. I know you know him, so … don’t be angry at him. I’m not.”

Peter knew that this was possibly a chance to tell her, but Ned and MJ were still there, and he wasn’t ready for everyone to know, so he didn’t say anything. MJ and Ned caught up to them, flanking them on either side. They didn’t talk much on their way to Liz’s house. 

When they reached it, Liz turned to them. “Thanks for tonight, guys. Really.”

“No problem,” Ned said, smiling warmly.

MJ tucked her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Are you going to be back in school tomorrow?”

Liz shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“I can bring by homework after.” 

Liz smiled. “I’ll let you know.” Then she stepped forward and pulled MJ into a short hug. MJ looked oddly embarrassed and took a step back as soon as Liz let go of her, crossing her arms as if she needed to ward off more human contact. She wasn’t big on gestures of affection. Liz hugged Ned and then Peter as well, which made his cheeks heat uncomfortably and he ducked his head when she let go of him. “Night.” She went inside. 

Peter cleared his throat and looked up, catching MJ’s inquiring eyes. “What?” 

“Nothing,” MJ answered and turned away.

***

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Ned asked into the almost-darkness of his room. 

Peter shifted on the mattress that was stored under Ned’s bed for whenever he came over, staring at the glowing stars on the ceiling. He hummed to let Ned know he was still awake.

“Like, I mean all of this. That somebody is _actually_ going around selling alien weapons? There are _actual_ superheroes living among us, people with powers?” He sighed. “Makes that serial killer seem kind of mundane.”

Peter bit his lip, pushing away the image of the young woman lying lifeless on the shore. She and the five others had been killed by Umbra, that much he knew now. “Crazy,” he agreed. Toomes’s words from the warehouse echoed in his head. _“That guy’s a psycho, leaving bodies up and down the river, and_ you _think I wanna have a part in that? Definitely not.” _

“Hey, Peter?” Ned asked, his voice taking on the lilt it had when he was close to drifting off.

“Hm?” 

“Do you ever wish you had superpowers?”

Peter closed his eyes. “All the time,” he whispered because he knew that was the answer Ned expected, the answer Peter would have given him if he hadn’t been Spider-Man. 

Ned’s breathing deepened, a low snore drifting towards Peter.

_“You wanna know why he kills them?” _

Peter turned onto his side. 

_“’Cause they’re circus freaks and they’re dumb enough to serve themselves on a silver platter.” _

He hadn’t had time to really think about Shocker’s words after their fight yesterday, but now he started to wonder. 

_“’Cause they’re circus freaks …”_

“Ned?” Peter asked softly. 

A snore was his only answer. 

He reached out and pulled his backpack closer, going through it softly until he found the mask of his suit and got up, tiptoeing towards the door to Ned’s room. He slid into the corridor and then the bathroom, knowing his way around Ned’s apartment well enough by now to have no issue finding it in the dark. He switched on the light, locked the door and pulled the mask over his head. 

_“Hello, Peter,”_ Karen said cheerily.

“Karen, I need you to check something for me,” he whispered, settling onto the edge of the bathtub. “The victims of the serial killer … were they enhanced?”

_“I have no record of that,”_ she answered.

“Like, they _weren’t_ or you just don’t know.”

_“I have no information pointing out that they_ were _enhanced. I have no information proving the opposite.” _

He pressed his lips together. “Who could have that information?”

_“All six victims were civilians with no previous police records. Certifying enhancements is not part of the autopsy routine. There is no way of knowing.” _

A notification popped up on the upper side of his HUD and he blinked at it. “What’s that?”

_“I should inform you that I identified a match to the radiation you found on the victim by the river. The source is close-by.” _

“What?” he asked, frowning and looking around automatically. “You mean … _here_?”

_“Yes. As a matter of fact,_ you _seem to emit it, Peter.” _

His heart skipped a beat. “Come again?!”

_“It’s not dangerous, no worries, and very faint. Fading.” _

Peter looked down at himself searchingly. “What could have caused it?”

_“This is the first time we are talking today. I don’t know. Did you come into contact with anything unusual?” _

He pondered that question, recalling that he got up for school, had a quick breakfast with Tony, dropping off Gareth’s book, going to school … Peter’s eyes widened when realization dawned. He looked down at his wrist and his heartbeat quickened. “Oh my God. Karen, the victims … they _must_ have been enhanced. They must have been, because the only unusual thing I came into contact with today was a bracelet which dampens enhancements.” He gasped. “Toomes said that they had dealt with Umbra, maybe they _sold_ him those inhibitors.” He frowned. “But why would a serial killer take enhancements away? Why not just kill his victims?” 

_“Some serial killers like to keep their victims for an extended amount of time to fulfil a fantasy. Would you like to hear examples?” _

“No, thanks.” He swallowed. “But do you have access to the autopsy reports?”

_“I do.” _

“Anything standing out? Injuries? Similarities? Anything telling us what exactly Umbra did to them?”

_“All victims were shot. All victims displayed a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing suggesting they were physically tortured or sexually abused. Nothing suggesting that they were tied up in any way. They weren’t malnourished or dehydrated.” _

“So, basically … he didn’t do anything to them but take their powers?”

_“It seems that way.” _

“How did he even find them?” He paused, Shocker’s words running through his mind again. 

_“’Cause they’re circus freaks and they’re dumb enough to serve themselves on a silver platter.” _

A thought occurred to him. “No way.” He had to leave. He had to leave _now_, but he hesitated. He wasn’t at home, he was at Ned’s place. He had his suit with him, yes. It was an old habit to take it everywhere, just in case. But should he really go out as Spider-Man now? He bit his lip, closing his eyes. Plus, it was just after half past ten. He didn’t have much time left before his curfew began. “Karen, do you know where the mayor lives?”

_“I can find out for you.”_ She paused for a moment and then answered, _“He lives on the Upper East Side. You will need approximately thirty minutes to get there.” _

Which meant he had to make a decision immediately. He _could_ wait until the next day. Maybe the mayor wasn’t even home. He shouldn’t go. 

He really shouldn’t. 

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then he shook his head. “Okay, map the quickest route for me,” he said. “I need to speak to him.”

***

The mayor lived in one of the older townhouses directly across from Central Park. It took Peter a little longer than half an hour to reach it from Ned’s place and by the time he did, his web-shooters were almost empty, and he was feeling the strain of his quick swinging in his arm and back muscles. He exchanged the web-fluid cartridges quickly while he looked at the house from where he was perched in a Central Park tree, assessing the situation. The road was still quite busy at this time of night. There was also no doubt in his mind that the cream-colored townhouse was guarded in some way, but from the outside, he couldn’t tell. It looked quiet and peaceful, one window on the ground floor was lit and one on the second floor. All other windows were dark. When Peter’s eye lenses zoomed in on them, he could make out what appeared to be an alarm system, so he wouldn’t have a chance to get inside undetected. He looked into the window on the ground floor, seeing a woman on the couch reading a book. He released a relieved breath when just a moment later, Lewin appeared and walked over to her, kissing her cheek before vanishing from sight. He was home and awake. Peter climbed higher on the tree and swung onto a streetlamp from there. Now, he was able to look into the lit window on the second floor and saw a study of some kind. He didn’t have to wait long for Lewin to enter and settle down at the heavy desk in front of his computer. 

Peter jumped over to the house, clinging to the wall next to the window and leaned to look inside. He raised his hand to rap his knuckles against the glass softly, startling Lewin into looking towards him. His eyes widened as Peter waved awkwardly and Lewin hurried over to the window, deactivating the alarm before he opened it. 

“Oh my God,” he said. “It’s you.”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped back, making space for Peter to climb through the window while he quickly shut the door to his office. “I’m so glad,” he said, “I get the chance to thank you personally.”

“Thank me?” Peter asked, frowning.

“You saved my life,” Lewin said. “At the fundraiser.”

Peter ducked his head. “It’s no big deal.”

“It is to me. It is to my family.” He hesitated. “Can you … take off the mask?”

“Is there video in here?”

“No.” 

Peter looked around searchingly, while Karen answered as well, _“No recording devices found.” _

Peter took a deep breath and reached up to remove the mask. Lewin stared while Peter brushed a hand through his messy hair.

“Gotta admit,” Lewin said, “I kind of did not believe it until just now. You are so young.”

Peter didn’t answer, unsure what he should say.

“I received the report about the shooting in Queens,” Lewin quickly added. “You should know that it won’t happen again. I hope you’re not hurt too badly.”

“Thank you, and no. It’s just a flesh wound and mending the suit was no big deal, so …” Peter took a breath. “I’m here about something else, actually, Mayor. And I don’t have much time.”

Lewin frowned at him. “What would that be?”

“The Registration Act,” Peter answered. “Or rather, the reason it was put on hold.”

Lewin looked at him quizzically. “Okay.” 

“Why was it deactivated?” Peter asked. 

Lewin crossed his arms and leaned back against his desk. “I’m sure you understand that I can’t talk about this. There’s an ongoing investigation-”

“Into what?”

“I can’t discuss it. I can only tell you what I told your father. We believe that the database was hacked.” 

“Because the people the serial killer has murdered were all enhanced?” Peter asked. 

Lewin stilled.

Peter knew that he was right. “They were all registered, weren’t they? And you believe the killer used the registry as some sort hit list.”

Lewin released a long breath and brushed one hand through his blond hair, then down his face. He looked defeated and tired. “How do you know that?”

“I connected the dots.” 

Lewin nodded. “There are still thirteen people missing. One of them vanished just one week after the list was started, the latest kidnapping happened yesterday.”

Peter frowned. “How do you know the kidnappings are connected? A lot of people vanish in New York.”

“All of them a few days after registering?”

Peter swallowed. “So, thirteen missing and six dead … nineteen people? What does he do with them?”

“There could be even more than those nineteen,” Lewin answered. His face was grave, his eyes sad. He seemed to really take this to heart. “Some people are never reported missing or maybe, nobody noticed yet that they are gone.” He sighed. “I stopped the Registration Act because New York is supposed to be a safe place for _all_ citizens. The Registration Act was supposed to be a good thing and he ruined it.”

Peter frowned. “What about Janus Labs?”

“How do you mean?”

“Did you check whether the leak comes from there? They _are_ the ones registering people. They have full access to the database.”

Lewin shook his head. “There’s no proof that the source is in the lab. Downloads of the registry are blocked, the computers with internet access do not have a connection with the list, none of the PCs has an USB port. Staff members dealing with the registrations are carefully vetted.”

“It’s not impossible, though, is it?”

He sighed reluctantly. “_Anything_ is possible. I mean, they _are_ being investigated. Janus Lab’s CEO has been very cooperative, though.”

“The CEO, it’s … her name’s Hopson, right?”

“Dr. Samantha Hopson,” Lewin said with a nod. “Brilliant geneticist.” His jaw clenched. “I believe that she would never do this. I know her pretty well.”

Peter thought of Liz and her father and shook his head. “Sometimes, even people you believe to know can deceive you.” 

“I’m a politician,” Lewin answered with a wry smile. “You think I don’t know that?”

***

It was almost half past eleven when Peter left Lewin and by the time he put his mask back on, he learned just _how_ close he was cutting it. _“You are twelve minutes away from me activating the Tattletale Protocol, Peter.” _

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Karen,” he answered. “I’m heading back.” He started to swing and Karen automatically calculated the time he would need to reach Ned’s place. Seeing that he didn’t have to rush too much, Peter took his time swinging, as he asked, “Do you happen to know the address of Samantha Hopson, CEO of Janus Labs?”

_“Yes,”_ she said and the map in his HUD showed him a pin not too far away from Queensboro Bridge … and right on the route Karen was suggesting for his way back to Ned’s. 

He sped up his swinging a bit. “It’s on the way. Maybe we can make a quick stop to talk to her, if she’s still awake.”

_“You would only have minutes to achieve that, Peter. The moment you are likely to overstep your curfew, I would have to report it.” _

He pouted. “Karen, why aren’t you on my side?”

_“I_ am _on your side, Peter, but my priority is your well-being, and the Bedtime Protocol-”_

“So much for him deactivating all the protocols,” Peter grumbled. It started to rain, thunder rolling in the distance.

_“The Training Wheels Protocol was deactivated, Peter. Bedtime and Tattletale are actually separate sub-routines-” _

“Yes, I get it.” He glanced at the map, the pin showing the location of Samantha Hopson’s apartment coming closer. He stopped to perch on a streetlamp right next to the apartment complex the pin indicated and looked up. Fat raindrops were making his vision a bit blurry, but he could see that a few of the windows were still lit. It was hard to say which ones in the ten-story building belonged to Hopson, though. He would have to crawl up the wall and check and he didn’t have time for that if he didn’t want to risk Karen informing Tony about his trip. The rain increased, becoming a torrent within seconds. People walking on the street started to hurry towards shelter. The suit protected Peter from the wet and the cold wind.

_“Peter,”_ Karen said. _“You will get back to Ned’s place past your curfew if you stop any longer. Possible consequences of missing your curfew are workshop bans and grounding of both yourself and Spider-Man.” _

Peter huffed a breath. “Karen, you can’t …” He faltered when the door to the apartment complex opened and a woman stepped outside. She had short, blond hair and was wearing tight jeans and a zipped-up, black leather jacket. His heart skipped a beat when he had his eye lenses zoom in and he recognized her. 

Samantha Hopson. 

“How lucky _am_ I?” he whispered. 

She walked down the steps and opened an umbrella. Stopping on the sidewalk, she looked down the busy street as if she was waiting for something. A taxi, maybe. 

“Karen, give me the countdown,” Peter said.

_“Six minutes, 43 seconds until you have to continue on your way,”_ Karen said. _“I cannot recommend-”_

“I know.” He dropped down from the streetlamp to land on the sidewalk, making sure that Hopson was able to see him approach. He didn’t want to scare her.

When she saw him, her eyes widened in surprise and she looked around as if Peter could possibly be here for one of the other few people walking past. Some of them gave Peter strange looks but nobody stopped, the rain hurrying them onwards. 

“Miss Hopson,” he said. “I was hoping we could speak.”

“What do you want?” He voice wasn’t unkind, but brash. Dismissive.

He decided not to be too friendly in turn. “It’s about the registry and the killings connected to it.”

Hopson swallowed, her eyes flittering over his shoulder to glance down the street. “I told the police everything already.” 

“I’m not exactly privy to looking at that file,” Peter answered, even though he was almost sure that Karen would be able to pull it up for him. He wanted Hopson to answer.

Her hands tightened around the strap of her handbag. “The registry is safe. Nobody working at the lab has criminal records of any kind. Nobody hacked it, nobody copied it, nobody uttered a name from that list to someone who is not working in the lab.”

“And you are sure of that?”

She sounded angry now. “Why _would_ they?”

“Greed?” Peter suggested. “I bet that people would be willing to pay to see names on that list.”

_“Four minutes left, Peter.” _

Hopson reached up to rub her forehead. “Staff working with the registry are paid very well to avoid exactly _that_ from happening. We covered all our bases. I am cooperating fully.” There was a moment of hesitation, then she continued, “There’s no need to harass me.”

“I’m not harassing you,” Peter answered, frowning.

_“Three minutes.” _

“You come up to me in the middle of the night asking questions I have already answered one hundred times.” Her eyes were welling with tears. “Do you think I don’t hate this? That it doesn’t sicken me? I don’t want people to die, I am a _supporter_ of enhanced life.”

Peter stared at her, trying to gauge whether she was telling the truth.

_“Two minutes.” _

“Leave,” she said. “Or I’ll scream.”

Peter swallowed and raised his hands in a placating way. “Listen, I’m trying to help.”

“Well you’re not helping,” she snapped. 

_“One minute.” _

Peter ducked his head. He didn’t have any time left. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll leave.”

Her shoulders slumped a little and an expression of relief settled onto her face.

“Sorry for bothering you,” Peter added and shot a web to start swinging. 

He picked up his pace a little to try and make sure he would make it to Ned’s place in time. “Do you think she’s involved?” he asked. 

Karen didn’t answer for a moment, then she said, _“She seemed nervous.” _

“She did, didn’t she?” Peter asked.

_“Her heartrate was elevated,”_ Karen added.

“Something is definitely off,” Peter said. “I just don’t know what it is.”

Peter reached Ned’s apartment with two minutes to spare and quickly crawled through the window. He pulled the mask off and brushed one hand through his hair, turning to stuff the mask into his backpack. 

He froze when light suddenly flooded the room and whirled around to look at Ned, who was sitting upright in bed, staring at him with wide eyes. “Peter?” He frowned. “What are you wearing?”

Peter quickly moved to hold the mask behind his back. His panicked brain tried to come up with something to say, something smart and convincing. Something that would make Ned believe that he was _not_ Spider-Man, even though he was standing here, in the middle of his room, wearing his suit and having just climbed in through the window, soaking wet. He was sure that there were plenty of believable stories he could have come up with. More than three at least. But all he ended up saying was, “Pajamas?”


	12. Chapter 12

“Dude,” Ned said, wiping sleep from his eyes, “that’s a Spider-Man suit.”

“No, it’s not,” Peter answered instinctively, his heart beating out of his chest. His hands started to feel clammy. “It’s a … a cosplay thing that I have going on to … you know … so … well, _technically_, I guess, it _is_ a Spider-Man suit, but it’s not real … it’s … fake.”

Ned stared at him. “You know that I know when you’re lying, right? Your face does that _thing_.”

“My face isn’t doing anything!” Peter replied. 

Ned raised his eyebrows. 

Peter swallowed, looking for words, an excuse, anything … and came up empty. “I’m just …” Ned had known him for a long time. Hiding Spider-Man from him by omission was one thing, but looking him in the eye right now, wearing the suit and denying it … that was different. He took a breath. “It’s … I kind of work for him, you know?” He turned away and ducked his head, hoping that Ned wouldn’t be able to see his face. “Like, I work on his suit together with Tony and …” Something hard hit him in the back of the head, and he turned to look down at a Han Solo action figure, lying innocently on the carpet. He raised his head to stare at Ned, indignation overriding his nerves. “Dude, did you just _throw_ something at me?”

Ned shrugged. “I was testing to see whether you’d catch it, you know, like in the video.”

“That only works when I’m in dang …” He cut himself off, biting his lip. 

It was too late, though. The words were out there.

Ned’s eyes widened. “You’re Spider-Man.”

Peter ducked his head and his shoulders slumped. “Okay, I’m Spider-Man.”

“No way,” Ned said slowly. “How?” 

Peter grimaced. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“You’re _Spider-Man_,” Ned said, as if repeating it would make it easier to digest. “I’m freaking out, dude.” He gasped. “_That’s_ how you know Tony?”

Peter crossed his arms and gave a shrug. “Yes. He just … approached me one day. He gave me the suit.”

“That’s _insane_!” Ned said, maybe a little too loudly and Peter quickly shook his head, putting one finger on his lips to shush him. They waited for a few moments, but the apartment remained quiet.

“I _know_,” Peter answered finally. A sheepish smile stole onto his face. “It is.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Peter’s smile dimmed. “I …” He swallowed, one hand coming up to tug on his hair. “I don’t know? It just seemed … at first, I wanted to get the hang of it before telling anybody and then I just got … used to it, I guess? And then Tony came along and it became … different. And then …” He sighed. “After May died, I didn’t even _want_ to be Spider-Man anymore. So I just …”

“And now you’re back,” Ned said. He pointed one finger at him. “_You_ got Liz’s dad arrested?”

Peter nodded.

Ned’s expression grew more solemn and he leaned back against the wall, his eyes narrowed. “And where are you coming from right now? Did you, like, patrol?”

Peter clenched his jaw, but he didn’t war long with the decision to tell Ned. Not being able to talk to his best friend about Spider-Man had been one of the hardest things when May had still been alive. They always shared _everything_ and it had been difficult not to just blurt it out, share what he experienced. He was relieved that he finally could. “I was following up on a lead.”

Ned grinned widely. “That sounded so cool. What kind of lead?”

“I …” Peter bit his lip, then he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can’t tell _anyone_. About _any_ of this.”

“Fine, just tell me.”

Peter sighed, admitting defeat. “I’m kind of trying to track that serial killer down.”

Ned stared at him. “Dude … that’s hardcore. How does Tony even allow you to do that?”

“He doesn’t,” Peter answered. “I’m allowed to go on patrol and stuff, but I’m actually not supposed to get involved in that serial killer case. So you _cannot_ tell him.”

Ned frowned. “Who are you working with then?”

Peter shrugged. “Nobody.” 

“Isn’t that, like, crazy dangerous?”

“I’ll be fine.” He pressed the spider symbol on his chest and the suit loosened, pooling at his feet. He stepped out of it and snagged his pajama pants off his mattress to get changed. 

Ned frowned at him. “So …” He huffed a breath. “All the bruises and the limping and time you said you fell down the stairs, did you …” 

“I got hurt on patrol.” He winced. “Especially just after I started. I … got into fights I didn’t know how to fight and sometimes, the webs didn’t hold my weight and I fell. It took a couple of months to get them right.”

Ned winced. 

“I’ve got super healing, though,” Peter said quickly, trying to put his mind at rest. He pointed at his calf. “You can’t even see it anymore, but I was shot a couple of nights ago.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” 

Peter nodded. 

“Awesome!” 

Peter frowned at him.

“Not awesome,” Ned corrected. “Totally uncool.”

Despite himself, Peter had to smile. “Shut up.”

“You know what?” Ned asked while Peter slid an oversized t-shirt over his head. “I could totally be your guy in the chair.”

Peter paused. “My what?”

“You know, the _guy_. With the headset, telling the other guy where to go. You know, call for help if you need it.” 

“I don’t need help,” Peter answered. “And I don’t need anybody to tell me where to go. I _know_ where to go.” He stuffed the suit into his backpack and closed it. “But Ned,” he said, kneeling on his mattress and against Ned’s bed. “You can’t tell anybody about this, okay? It’s a secret.”

“Why would you want it to be a secret?” Ned asked. “You’re Spider-Man, Iron Man’s kid. It’s, like, the most awesome superhero thing to happen in _years_.”

“Exactly! They’re already after me for being Tony’s regular kid, do you have any idea what would happen if I revealed my identity?”

Ned grimaced and gave a reluctant nod. “I guess you have a point.”

“So, _please_, don’t tell anybody.”

“I’m gonna need a list of people who know. You know, so I don’t slip up.”

Peter sighed. “Tony, Rhodey, Black Widow, Vision and Captain America know for sure. I’m not sure about the other Avengers. Pepper and Happy know.” He hesitated before continuing. “Daredevil knows.”

“You know Daredevil?!”

“Sh!” Peter hissed. “Yes,” he answered. “I know him.”

“Is he cool?” Ned asked. “He seems cool. He seems like the kind of guy you don’t want to mess with. Total badass.” 

Peter shrugged. “Yeah, he’s … all that.” He swallowed. “Also … this other guy knows. You know … Deadpool.” 

Ned stared at him, his dark eyes wide. “The Deadpool from YouTube? The one from the traffic cams on that highway where he basically killed, like, ten guys? That guy?”

“He saved my life a while ago,” Peter said.

“Isn’t he, like, totally unhinged?”

Peter laid down, relaxing back into the pillow. “He’s … definitely weird.” He closed his eyes.

“Peter?” 

He hummed.

“How did you get your powers?”

“I was bitten by a spider. During that Oscorp field trip.”

Ned leaned over the edge of his bed to look at him, more awake than ever. “Tell me everything.”

***

The R&D floor was bustling with energy when Peter entered, the corridor and labs brightly lit by neon lamps and the sun streaming in, laughter drifting down towards the elevator from the kitchenette and a group of newbies – wide-eyed and clutching their new badges – listening to a stern-looking woman pointing out fire exits. A couple of them stared at Peter as he passed, but not all of them seemed to recognize him, which would surely change soon enough. 

Peter found Gareth in his lab, leafing through a thick bundle of papers in his hands while a young man stared at him anxiously. The door was open, so Peter knocked and smiled shyly when Gareth looked at him.

“Give me sec, Peter,” Gareth said with an answering smile. Peter lingered by the door politely, stepping out of the way a bit when the group of newbies passed by. Gareth continued to peruse the print-out while the young man continued to hover nervously. Finally, Gareth looked at him and nodded. “Very good.”

“Really?” The young man looked stunned and when he shifted slightly, Peter identified a student intern badge clipped to his lab coat.

“Yeah. You’ll get an A on this, guaranteed.”

“Cool,” the student answered, grinning widely. “Oh my God, thank you, Dr. Olson.”

“Any time.” He handed the file back and the student hurried out of the lab, grinning at Peter as he passed. 

Peter watched him go and then stepped inside the lab, letting the glass door swing shut to not be overheard. 

Gareth leaned back against his lab table. “I wasn’t aware we had an appointment today,” he said.

“We didn’t,” Peter replied. “I just have a few short questions, sir.”

“Alright then.” Gareth sighed and shrugged out of his lab coat. “I only have ten minutes, though.”

“That’s fine,” Peter answered and stepped closer, his fingers tugging on the hem of his t-shirt nervously. He didn’t have much time either, having told Tony that he just wanted to check on an experiment he was doing with Gareth. Tony didn’t know the real reason he’d come here, and Peter didn’t know whether to tell him. And if, _how_ to tell him. Tony had made it clear that he didn’t want Peter involved in the serial killer case and while Peter intended not to get _too_ involved, he didn’t think that at least asking some questions and following some traces leading to more information about Umbra could hurt. It wasn’t as if he was going to _fight_ him. He could hand whatever he found over to the DODC anytime. 

“Is it about your parents?” Gareth asked.

“No, actually, it’s about … about the inhibitor.”

Gareth’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “What about it?”

“I’ve been wondering,” Peter said, “about how it works.”

Gareth frowned, his blue eyes darkening. “That’s a very complex question.” 

“Does it have to do with radiation?”

“Good guess,” Gareth said. “In a nutshell, yes. It’s a little more complicated than that but radiation plays a part in suppressing powers, just as much as it can play a part in bringing them forth.”

Peter stepped closer. “What is it made of?” He wrapped his fingers around his own wrist demonstratively. “It was very tight. I couldn’t get my fingers underneath it.”

Gareth nodded slowly and pulled his sleeve back to show Peter the inhibitor around his wrist. It was sitting very tight, while it wasn’t tight enough to hurt. “And that’s the point. Essentially, it’s just a magnet holding it together. A neodymium magnet.”

Peter looked at the inhibitor curiously. He knew that neodymium was one of the strongest magnets on Earth. “The material is very flexible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Think melamine foam, just cooler,” Gareth answered. “S.H.I.E.L.D. reinforced it with just a little bit of adamantium.” 

“Adamantium?” 

“It’s a metal alloy, close to indestructible. The key,” he said, brandishing the silver pen Peter had seen the morning before, “causes a reaction, deactivating the magnet, which in turn loosens the inhibitor.” He clicked the end of the pen and the inhibitor came loose immediately. Gareth took it off and held it out to Peter.

He took it carefully, his fingers brushing over the sleek surface but not finding any seams. 

“Don’t put it on, it will switch on. I don’t want another panic attack. Mr. Stark would kill me for sure this time.” Gareth was smiling gently as he said that. 

Peter returned the gesture sheepishly and handed the inhibitor back, bracing himself as he asked the question that had been on his mind since the night before. “Dr. Olson, is it possible that inhibitors land in the wrong hands?”

Gareth frowned in confusion. “Like?” 

“I don’t know, like, in the hands of people who hate Inhumans, for example?”

“You mean whether it’s possible they’re sold on the black market?”

Peter nodded. “Yes.” 

Gareth shrugged. “Definitely. I’m sure that many things were stolen when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell.” He frowned at Peter. “Why do you ask?” 

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know. Just curious, I guess.” 

“Curious, huh?” Gareth asked. He heaved a sigh. “Yes, I’m sure that these would sell quite highly on the black market.” 

“Okay,” Peter said. “Thank you, Dr. Olson.” 

He turned to leave but stopped when Gareth said, “Peter, whatever the reason is you’re asking these questions, I really hope you’re not getting into any kind of trouble. I would hate to feel obligated to mention this to Mr. Stark.”

Peter turned around to him and pasted on a smile he didn’t feel. His heart felt like it was in his throat, his hands clenching nervously. “Of course, sir. Like I said, I’m just curious.”

“As long as it’s just that,” Gareth answered. 

Peter made an effort to widen his smile as he turned to leave.

***

“Can I go on patrol after dinner?” Peter asked, turning the sausages in the pan. 

Tony frowned at him from where he was stirring butter into the carrots and peas. “It’s a school night.”

“I know,” Peter said. “But it’s still early.” Which was true. The sun was just starting to set, its rays still strong enough to light the open-plan living area of the penthouse. The TV was on, showing a news channel on mute, homework and Stark Industries paperwork alike scattered on the low coffee table and the couch. 

They took turns distributing dinner onto their plates, Peter placing sausages down while Tony scooped the vegetables on and asked, “Is your homework done?”

“Yes.” 

“Any tests you need to study for?”

“All done.”

They settled at the table and Tony poured them both juice. “When are we going to spend some time in the workshop together?” 

Peter paused for a second, his fork half-way to his mouth. Sheepishly, he looked at Tony. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, you’re so busy patrolling that you forget all about your old man, sitting abandoned and lonely in this big empty penthouse every night,” Tony said, giving him a teasing grin. 

Peter grimaced. He actually _did_ feel guilty now. Normally, it wouldn’t have been a problem for him to cancel patrol and spend time with Tony, but he’d thought about all the things he knew about Umbra now and he had an idea how he could track him down. Not that he could tell Tony about this. And not that he _intended_ to do anything should he actually _find_ him. “Can I make it up to you another time?” 

Tony reached out to ruffle his hair. “No hard feelings, buddy.” He sobered a bit, pointing his fork at Peter. “You shouldn’t overdo it, though. Make sure you get some breaks.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He poked at his vegetables. “Tony?” 

“Hm?” 

“Did you learn anything about that serial killer from the DODC?”

“Umbra?” Tony shrugged. “The DODC poked around a bit, talked to agents who’ve been undercover for S.H.I.E.L.D. Some of them have heard the name before.”

Peter looked at him in surprise. “Really?” 

“He turns up in a city, looks for people to hire additionally to his core crew. Then, the missing person cases start and soon after, the killings. The first time he turned up was in Chicago and the most recent cases before New York happened in Seattle, apparently. There were incidents in Austin and Los Angeles. People going missing, some of them turning up dead. The ones who didn’t turn up dead were never seen again.” Tony shrugged. “They couldn’t tell me how he picks his victims. None of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have actually ever _seen_ Umbra. What we _do_ know for sure is that his presence in a city never lasts longer than a month.” 

Chewing thoughtfully, Peter tried to recall when he’d heard about the first victim on the news. “Which means-” 

“Which means he’s almost done with New York.”

Peter swallowed. 

Tony narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re staying out of this, right?”

“Yes,” Peter said hurriedly, not meeting his eyes. “Sure. Just curious.”

Tony didn’t look like he quite believed him. “Peter.” 

“I won’t fight him,” Peter said. “Promise.” It wasn’t even a lie. He didn’t intend to fight Umbra. He just wanted to find him and then leak his location to the authorities. Maybe, when he did that, Tony would learn to trust in Spider-Man more. Maybe he’d understand that Peter could handle more than just bike thieves.

Tony nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said, showing a smile that seemed forced. “Okay.”

***

“Okay, Karen, here’s the plan,” Peter said as he stood on the highest point of Queensboro Bridge, looking down at East River and towards Randalls Island. “I’m going to swing along the edge of the river, and you are going to try and find any traces of that radiation the inhibitor gave off.”

_“The radiation that one inhibitor gives off is very weak, Peter. I doubt I would be able to trace it if you don’t pass right by it.” _

“But that’s the point,” Peter said, dropping into a crouch. He checked the status of his web-fluid, nodding to himself when he saw that the cartridges were almost full. “One inhibtor’s signature might be weak, but we have nineteen people missing in New York and several more from other cities who never turned up dead. They could still be hidden away as well. If they are held somewhere together and each of them wears an inhibitor-”

_“The radiation signature would be stronger.” _

“You think you could trace that?”

_“If they are kept close by, yes.” _

“If we don’t find them tonight, we’ll try a different area tomorrow,” Peter answered, looking towards the sun slowly sinking, bathing the busy city in an orange glow. “We have almost five hours tonight. I should be able to cover the whole shore from here to LaGuardia.”

_“You should stop every 300 to 900 feet to let me scan.” _

“Okay.” He stood and flexed his fingers. “Let’s do this.” He jumped off the bridge, catching his fall to swing sideways towards Queensbridge Park and landing on one of the streetlamps lining the footpath.

_“Scanning,”_ Karen said.

“Hey, Spidey,” somebody called, and Peter looked down to see a young couple waving at him as they passed. 

He waved back.

_“No results.” _

“Okay, let’s go then.”

It was a painstaking task. They passed Ravenwood and Roosevelt Island Bridge, stopping several times along the way. By the time they reached Astoria Park, Peter was growing frustrated with the lack of results but he powered on, leading Karen past Hell Gate Bridge and up to Lawrence Point. It was when they crossed Luyster Creek and Peter stopped on a warehouse near Astoria Energy that Karen said, _“I’m picking up a weak signature.” _

Peter, who at this point had already thought that they wouldn’t find anything tonight, perked up. “Where?” 

_“I’m not sure.” _

Peter looked around. The area they were in was industrial, bad roads and flat buildings of which many looked unused, even when they weren’t. “Where should I go?”

_“Follow the road.” _

Peter jumped over to the next rooftop and then onto an old ambulance which stood abandoned by the side of the road, unintelligible graffiti sprayed on its sides.

_“There,”_ Karen said, highlighting a building a few hundred feet down the street. 

It was a concrete, square building. A high solid metal fence surrounded the property, keeping people from looking inside, and a rusty, slightly bent sign on the gate declared ‘No Trespassing’. Peter looked at it from a rooftop across the street, watching an old car drive by, loud music blaring into the warm evening air. The streetlamps had switched on a while ago already, the sun was gone entirely.

“Karen, who does it belong to?”

_“It is listed as belonging to a company named Kay Property Management. They hold several industrial and medical properties in America and Canada.” _

Peter watched the property for a few moments, unable to see any sign of life. Some of the windows of the building were broken and the ground outside was cracked open in some places, grass and moss causing green spots on the grey concrete. “Reconnaissance mode.”

His HUD switched. At first, he thought there were no heat signatures to be found but then he saw a weak one toward the back of the property. He swung over the fence and landed on the roof softly, pausing to make sure nobody had seen him before he made his way towards the back. 

There was nobody to be seen. The heat signature emanated from a van parked outside the backdoor. 

“It’s still warm. Somebody must have recently parked here.”

_“I agree. The radiation signature is coming from within the van.” _

Peter crawled down the side of the building and ran over to the van, trying one of the doors at the back carefully. 

It opened.

“People should really lock their cars,” he whispered, peering inside. There were several black boxes made of plastic rowed up neatly, the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem – a stylized eagle – printed on the top in white. Peter reached for the closest one and flipped open the clasps, lifting the lid. “Jackpot,” he whispered with a grin. There were inhibitors inside, twenty of them nestled into Styrofoam. There were about thirty boxes inside the van, easily. 

Six hundred inhibitors. 

“They’re stocking up,” he said, closing the box. His hand brushed over the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. A flash of color appeared in the corner of his vison and he closed the van door, sliding around the vehicle out of sight and quickly climbing onto the building’s roof.

“… ridiculous, that’s what it is,” a man said, coming out of the backdoor with another one, each of them carrying one more box. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“Yeah,” the other guy agreed. “And it’s not like we get a lot of vacation days, either.”

“Load up the inhibitors,” the other man said, pitching his voice high as if he was imitating a woman. “Drop them off at the harbor. Get me a sandwich.”

The other guy laughed. “Hey, at least we get to move the freak when we skip town,” he said as they stepped around the van and got in.

“Doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

“You’ll think differently once you’ve emptied a clip into him. Solves all your anger issues.”

They drove off. The backdoor was still open.

Peter used it as his point of entry and immediately crawled up the wall to cling to the ceiling and look around. The building was empty, smudges on the floor indicating that some sort of machinery had once been installed and then removed. There were several doors leading outside, including a pretty big gate towards the side of the property facing the street. One door in the corner had been left open. Peter used the rafters to sneak over to it, keeping an eye out for anything unusual. He paused near the door, seeing steps leading downstairs. He could hear the hum of electricity and, very softly, voices. 

“Karen,” he whispered, “are there any vents I can use to get down there?”

She highlighted the entrance to the vent system for him. The cover was hanging down and he had no trouble crawling inside. The vent system was old and dusty, the moist smell of mold hanging in the air. Peter was glad that the mask helped to reduce the intensity a bit. He found his way down into the basement, pausing when he reached a grated maintenance hatch. 

“Deactivate reconnaissance mode.” 

The corridor beneath was dimly lit, several doors branching off of it, most of them closed. 

_“Peter, I detect the radiation signature again.” _

“Show me where.”

The HUD was tinted into a green hue, several blue points showing him where the radiation was the strongest. Behind the closed doors.

“This is where they keep them,” Peter whispered, his heartbeat quickening. He’d found them. He’d actually found them!

_“I think it would be wise to call for help now,”_ Karen said. 

“Just a second.” Peter crawled onwards, stopping when he saw two guys through the next maintenance hatch. They were sitting on folding chairs at a rackety table in a room to which the door was open, a microwave dinging and one of them getting up to open it. Peter crawled on, landing at a crossing, the vent splitting into two. He chose left and found himself looking into another room. Two men were in there, one sitting behind a computer, the other standing near the door.

“Still no bids,” the guy behind the computer said.

“Told you,” the other answered, crossing his arms. “We sold three telepaths in Seattle. The demand for them is going down.”

_Sold_? Peter frowned, wondering what was going on. 

The man behind the computer huffed a breath. “Should I go and kill him then?”

“We better wait. Let the boss decide. We’re about to leave for Boston, I’m sure Umbra wants to get rid of some baggage before we go. We might have to kill more than this one.”

Peter’s heart beat out of his chest, his breath catching in his throat. The dismissive way the two men spoke about human lives was causing him to feel slightly nauseous. He swallowed it down, curling his hands into fists as he forced himself to listen further.

“We received some new bids for the empath, the price is going up.”

“Makes sense. Empaths are rare and she’s kinda pretty.” He cleared his throat. “You know I told the boss that if we really want to make some dough, we should try and get our hands on one of those vigilante types. These _superheroes_.” He said the word as if it disgusted him. “I bet people would be willing to pay a lot for one of them.” 

Peter shook his head and crawled backwards carefully, pausing when he reached the crossing again. He took a few deep breaths as he let the implications of what he’d heard sink in.

_“You seem to be in distress.” _

“This is not a serial killer,” Peter whispered. “This is human trafficking. _Inhuman_ trafficking. They pick people out of the registry to sell them.” He swallowed. “Karen, this is _huge_. Organized crime.”

_“Should I call for support?” _

Peter shook his head. “After I check out the rest.” He crawled down the other way now, further down the corridor, until the vent made a sharp turn and bent upwards. He followed, cursing softly when it got even darker. Karen switched into night mode and he could make out a maintenance hatch directly in front of him which led into a dark room. Peter almost missed it when he scanned the room quickly, but just as he wanted to continue onwards, he took a second look into one of the corners. And recognized a person sitting there, huddled into themselves. He could hear soft muttering, a chuckle, then more muttering. The smell of blood hung thick in the air. Peter’s danger-sense, which had been relatively calm this whole time, started to react, a shivery response that was … familiar, somehow. 

Peter hesitated.

“Don’t let me keep you,” a rough, male voice said into the silence. 

Peter startled, but he kept still, hoping that they guy would think he’d been mistaken.

“Yes, I know you’re there.” He chuckled, but it sounded lifeless and bitter … resigned. “You’re being rude. Leave or come down and introduce yourself.”

Peter released a breath … and reached for the hatch carefully, pushing it open gently to make sure he didn’t make any noise. He moved to swing down into the room, landing on his feet softly. “Switch off night mode,” he whispered and was left in the dark with the man, only a little bit of light falling through the cracks of the door. Peter now noticed a slightly louder hum of electricity, but he couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from. He pulled his cellphone from the hidden pocket in his suit and switched on the torch app. 

The guy hissed and jerked away, hands covering his head protectively. 

“Sorry,” Peter whispered, angling the light away. 

The man looked towards him carefully. Peter’s heart skipped a beat. The man’s whole face was a mess of scars, mangling his expression into something slightly lopsided. He didn’t have hair, scars tracing his bald head and running down his neck to disappear under the loose, dirty blue t-shirt he was wearing over cotton pants of the same color. They looked like filthy, ripped surgical scrubs. He was barefoot, his feet scarred as well as his hands, who were clutching each other tightly. An inhibitor was wrapped tightly around the guy’s wrist. The man smiled sharply, his scars turning the expression into a slightly terrifying grimace. “I know,” he said. “I’m not pretty.”

Peter stepped closer to him, his danger-sense continuing its low hum. It was warning him of _potential_ danger, but it wasn’t overly alarmed, as if the man sitting on the floor _chose_ not to hurt him, against better judgement. It was strange. There was only one person he knew which had affected his danger-sense like this before. “Are you okay, sir?”

The man laughed thinly. He had dark eyes that shone with something like mirth when he looked at Peter. “I’m far from okay, bambi.”

The nickname struck something within Peter and now he started to recognize the voice, _definitely_ recognized his danger-sense’s reaction. 

The man seemed to notice, and he tilted his head. “We have _got_ to stop meeting this way, baby boy.” 

“Deadpool?” Peter asked, stunned.

“The one and only.”

Peter stared at him.

“Why are you surprised?” Deadpool asked. “I think there have been enough hints about me appearing at _some_ point.” He grinned. “Couldn’t pass up the chance to guest-star in the grand finale.”

Peter shook his head, confused. “What?” 

Deadpool tilted his head. “But look at _you_, baby boy. All suited up and adorable.”

There were voices filtering in from the corridor and Peter froze, looking at the door. He shook his head, remembering the task at hand. “I’m gonna get all of you out of here.”

“My hero,” Deadpool answered, slumping back against the wall. In the light of the app, he looked unnaturally pale, a light sheen of sweat on his face.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked again.

“Yeah. Just dying.” He lifted the hand wearing the inhibitor. “They blocked my enhanced healing. And I kind of need it to live,” Deapdool explained. “But it’s easier to keep me under control like this.”

Peter wanted to learn more about that, but he knew that they didn’t have the time. “Okay, I’m going to call for …” 

The sound of electricity vanished, the humming fizzling out, and now Peter was able to identify the source. It was the metal door. They’d electrified the door, maybe as an additional matter of precaution against their prisoner. Peter had seen Deadpool in action, knew how very efficient he was in a fight. Downright gruesome. 

“Here they come,” Deadpool said, not moving from his slumped position. 

Peter straightened and fell into a fighting stance when the door was pushed open. The man entering was carrying a take-out container and a gun. When he saw Peter, he froze. “What the hell?”

Peter fired a web at his mouth to avoid him screaming for help but before he could pull him properly inside the room, the guy slapped something on the wall outside the door and a loud alarm started to sound. Peter grabbed his gun from him and threw it into a corner, blocking a punch headed for his face and jumped to cling to the ceiling and kick the guy in the chest. He fell back against the wall, still struggling with the webbing over his mouth, and Peter knocked him out.

“Get the key,” Deadpool said, but Peter was already rifling through the guy’s pockets and the pouches on his gun belt. 

Thundering footsteps came closer. 

Peter’s fingers closed around the pen-like key he recalled Gareth using to deactivate the inhibitor just when two men ran into the room. He tossed it towards Deadpool, flipping and ducking to avoid several bullets, and used his web-shooters to disarm one guy, throwing the gun at the other’s head. He fell, unconscious, while Peter webbed his friend against the wall. 

Already, he could hear more guards coming and tried to recall how many men he’d seen during his tour through the vents. He’d thought they were only four … he’d been wrong, apparently.

Fighting became instinctual, his danger-sense and the training he’d received from Daredevil helping him to keep the upper hand. He ducked away from a punch, then a kick, managing to knock one of them out, just to find himself held at gunpoint by another guard. Before he could properly react, the sound of gunfire was loud in his ears … but he didn’t feel his danger-sense kick in to avoid the bullets. Instead, the man who’d threatened him crumpled to the floor, a red stain quickly spreading on his chest. Peter turned to see Deadpool stand by the door, still panting and looking weak. He smiled at him. Then he swung to leave the room, shooting the two guns in his hands in rapid succession and, apparently, with success if the screams coming from the corridor were anything to go by.

“Don’t kill them!” Peter shouted and followed him quickly, effectively placing himself between Deadpool and the remaining three guards, who didn’t hesitate to open fire.

_“Peter, I am afraid that you could be in violation of your curfew. I will have to alarm Tony if you don’t return to the Tower soon.” _

“Alarm him,” Peter panted, pinning a guy to the wall with several shots of webbing before he turned to yank one of the guns out of Deadpool’s hands, earning himself a frustrated curse. “I need the DODC here. Someone who can deal with this. We’ve got several …” He ducked from a bullet and prepared to shoot a web to disarm the last of the guards when a bullet whizzed right past him and straight into the guy’s shoulder. He screamed and fell backwards. 

Silence entered. 

“We’ve got several people here who need help,” Peter continued. He stood there, panting, and looked around, trying to see whether more guards would turn up. 

Deadpool stepped up beside him and pointed his gun at the guy he’d shot last, who was cowering on the floor clutching his shoulder. “Please,” he whispered, staring at Deadpool fearfully. “Don’t.” 

“Not so much fun on that end of the gun, is it?” Deadpool asked, his voice dripping venom. “I remember you. Headshot fan, aren’t you? Should I try to shoot _you_ and see whether _you’ll_ get up again?” His hand was visibly trembling, his expression twisted with barely suppressed rage. There was _something_ in his eyes, something murderous and furious … and sad. 

Peter stepped in front of the guard. “Stop it,” he said.

Deadpool’s dark eyes found Peter’s. He bared his teeth into a snarl. “Step aside, bambi, this is none of your business.”

“No,” Peter said. 

Deadpool stared at him, something menacing flickering his eyes and Peter’s danger-sense hummed louder, as if he had crossed some sort of invisible line and now, _now_ he was in danger from Deadpool.

There was a crash, the sound of concrete breaking, and the corridor filled with dust. Peter _heard_ him before he _saw_ him: the whirring of machinery, the shifting of metal plates against each other, the low hum of the arc reactor. 

The dust settled and Iron Man stood there, his repulsors at the ready. 

One of them pointed at Deadpool.

“Tony, don’t,” Peter said.

“Put your gun down,” Iron Man said. “And step away from Spider-Man.”

Deadpool didn’t move for a long moment, his eyes still locked onto Peter’s face as if he could see right through the mask. Peter’s danger-sense thrummed … and then calmed. Peter shook his head. “Please,” he said. 

Deadpool didn’t drop the gun, but he stepped back from Peter and lowered it, raising his other hand in acquiescence. 

“What the hell,” Tony asked, the glow of his eyes settling on Peter, “is going on here?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, moonchild2593, for making me realize that Jake Gyllenhaal would indeed be the perfect actor to play Gareth Olson. Mainly because he's, well, Jake Gyllenhaal and because he's got the looks, but also because almost everyone in the comments seems to have decided that he's a baddie in disguise ... but is he really?

Tony’s helmet opened, showing his face. It was angrier than Peter had ever seen it. Afraid that it would come to a fight between Tony and Deadpool, Peter pushed himself between them, trying to mediate, trying to explain a situation he didn’t fully grasp himself. 

He couldn’t find the words. 

All he did was distract Tony enough for Deadpool to fire several shots, precise and quick, into the electrical panel, dipping the basement into darkness and causing Tony to pull Peter against his chest, turning his back towards Deadpool and using his bulk to protect Peter from any ricochets. By the time the shots stopped and Tony let go of Peter, Deadpool was running for the exit. 

Knowing that Tony wouldn’t hesitate to go after him, Peter grabbed his arm. “Tony, don’t! It’s not his fault!” 

Tony paused and turned back to him.

“He was a prisoner here,” Peter explained, freezing when his ears picked up on sirens drawing closer. 

Tony stiffened as well and tilted his head upwards. “Get out of here,” he said.

“Tony-” 

“Leave!” With that, he was gone, shooting up through the hole he’d come through. 

And Peter left. While he made his way off the property, guilt started to wreck him. For lying, for going against Tony’s explicit orders, for disappointing him, for allowing Deadpool to escape. And suddenly, he regretted it. He regretted ever thinking he should go after Umbra, ever telling Tony he wouldn’t. He hadn’t intended for things to spiral out of control like this, for people to end up dead, for several more to be hurt, for Tony making up a story to keep Spider-Man’s name out of all of it. 

He swung up on a rooftop a few blocks away and paused to breathe. His chest felt tight. He yanked off his mask and gulped in the cold night air, watching a few black SUVs drive by towards the river. Probably more DODC agents. His danger-sense started to thrum the familiar way it did when Deadpool was near. 

Potential danger.

Even though that was probably not quite right. After the way Deadpool had looked at him tonight, his expression so cold and murderous, Peter thought that maybe his danger-sense wasn’t warning him because Deadpool _might_ hurt him. Maybe it warned him because part of Deadpool definitely _wanted_ to, on some level.

“What a bust,” Deadpool said.

Peter turned to face him. “Why are you still here? Tony’s gonna kill you.”

“Irondad needs to chill a little,” Deadpool answered. “Next safehouse is quite the walk away from here, I’ve got no cash on me, no ID, no proper clothes. I needed to take a break and think about my next actions. This rooftop looked as good as any.”

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, stepping closer to him. He noticed that some of the filth on the scrubs Deadpool was wearing was in fact dried blood. There were no visible wounds, though.

Deadpool huffed a breath. His arms crossed over his broad chest and his lips curled into a bitter smile. “What kind of question is that?”

“A valid one?” They weren’t friends, Peter thought. Not by a long shot, not with his danger-sense being so wary. But Deadpool had saved his life once and Peter had returned the favor. They were, at the very least, unlikely, tentative allies.

Deadpool turned his head away, half of his face now drowned in shadow, while the other half was lit by the streetlamps. Their shallow light made his scarred skin look sick and pale, but his dark eyes glittered with humor when he looked back at Peter. “You’re cute, bambi.” 

Peter felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he quickly pulled it out, flinching when he saw that Tony was calling him. He turned away from Deadpool and answered, “Hey.” 

Tony’s voice was clipped when he spoke, hushed. _“What are you still doing here? The suit has been stationary for the past ten minutes. I told you to leave.” _

“Tony-” 

_“They’re going to sweep the surrounding area. Leave, now.”_ He hung up. 

Peter swallowed and lowered the phone. He turned around to Deadpool. “We have to go,” he said. “They’re searching the area.” He pulled his mask over his face, turning to leave, but paused with one foot on the edge of the roof. He turned back to Deadpool. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m always okay, baby boy. Wouldn’t be the first night I spend on the street.”

Peter nodded, his heart clenching in sympathy. “Can I give you a ride?” 

“A ride?” Deadpool asked, quirking one naked eyebrow.

“Yeah. Somewhere.” Peter mimicked a swinging motion with his hand. “You know.”

“Nah,” Deadpool said, “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Peter answered. “Well, see you around, I guess.”

“Not if Irondad sees me first,” Deadpool answered. 

Peter smiled, then he jumped to swing away, back towards the Tower. 

***

Tony found Peter waiting for him slumped into one of the chairs at the kitchen island. He’d changed into pajama pants and his Princess Leia t-shirt, his hair a curly mess as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. As soon as Tony entered the penthouse through the balcony door, his suit falling away to retreat to the armory, Peter stumbled off the chair and to his feet. He looked scared, his eyes wide and his jaw and shoulders tense. He probably expected Tony to get angry, to yell and demand an explanation for what had happened, how it happened, why he’d thought it was a good idea to track down a serial killer and lie to Tony’s face about it. Tony felt anger clench tight around his chest and his hands curled … and it was like he felt the ghost of his father sitting in the corner, watching it unfold, ready to see Tony step into footprints he didn’t want to fit into. So he clenched his jaw and did the only thing he could think of that would give him time to calm down, to think about this rationally, as he _should_. “Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Peter shook his head and stepped closer. “Tony, I’m sorry.”

Tony looked at him, not moving. “Go to bed, Peter.”

“I’m serious. I’m really sorry.”

Tony scoffed and turned away, heading for the bar. He heard Peter’s steps coming after him and his fingers curled around the handle of the mini-fridge as he yanked it open, around the bottle of vodka inside. 

Peter approached slowly, eyeing the bottle warily. “I only wanted to check it out. I didn’t want to do more than that, I swear. It just happened. It was an accident and I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand. I wanted to call you, I swear.”

Tony slammed a glass onto the top of the bar and poured himself a drink. “Peter, I can’t do this right now.”

“I just-” 

“Peter!” 

Startled, brown eyes met his.

Tony took a deep breath, his fingers tight around the glass. “I told you to go to your room. I’m tired and I have a phone call with Secretary Ross lined up who wants to use what happened tonight to get to Spider-Man because _of course_ I couldn’t keep you out of this. There were webs all over the place! I don’t want to hear your excuses, I want you to go to your room!” Tony walked past him, towards the stairs leading up to the workshop. 

“Tony.” He sounded scared.

He tried to ignore him, passing the dining room table.

“Tony.” Panicked.

Tony paused by the kitchen island, his eyes closing in defeat before he turned back to him. “What?” 

Peter had followed him and was now standing just a few steps away, biting his lip and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. It was a defensive position. Peter was curled into himself, almost protectively and it broke Tony’s heart a little despite his anger. Peter whispered, “Love you.” It almost sounded like a question, like a plea. 

Tony felt his shoulders slump, his throat closing up with emotion. He set the glass down on the kitchen island and took a deep breath. “I’m really disappointed, Peter.”

Peter flinched, his eyes welling up, but he nodded. “Okay.” He turned to leave. 

“Peter.” 

He turned back around to him.

“Come here,” Tony said, opening his arms. Peter went into the embrace quickly, his hands coming up to grab onto Tony’s shirt as he pressed his face against his shoulder. Tony wrapped his arms around him and dropped a kiss onto his head. “I love you, too,” he said.

“I’m sorry. For lying. I thought it would be fine. I didn’t want this to happen. I just wanted to track him down and then I would have told you. I just wasn’t sure whether I’d find him and then it turned into something else entirely and …” He took a breath. “I’m sorry.”

Tony sighed, closing his eyes. Then he pushed Peter back a step to look at him, forcing his voice to be firmer than he felt. “I hate that you lied to me.” 

“I know.”

“I thought I was clear that if I let you go out with the suit,” Tony said, “you’d have to be honest with me about what you’re up to.”

“I just …” He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to stop me. I … I was getting so close.”

Tony nodded. “And it could have _killed_ you. You have a healing factor, but you’re not immortal. I saw the casings down in that hallway, I saw the bullet holes in the walls. You could have got hit.” He rubbed a hand over his chest, right where his heart was, his fist clenching. “If anything would have happened to you …” He faltered, grimacing. 

Peter looked at his fingers clenched into his shirt, his eyes wet when they met Tony’s again and Tony could see that he understood. “I’m sorry.” 

Tony sighed deeply, his hand coming up to rub over his face tiredly. “I know.” He shook his head. “No workshop privileges for the coming weekend.” He swallowed, bracing himself for his next words. “No patrols for a month.”

Peter’s eyes widened and he looked up at him. “What? A month?”

“Yes, Peter. A month.”

Peter stared at him. “But I … I was just trying to help.”

“You took a stupid risk.” Tony sighed and shook his head. “It’s not just a punishment. It’s also protection. I wouldn’t put it past Ross to increase his search for Spider-Man now that this happened. And we have no idea whether that Umbra guy was one of the guys arrested or killed tonight. If he wasn’t, he could come after Spider-Man as well.” 

He waited for Peter to protest further but Peter didn’t speak. 

“Anything you’d like to say?”

Peter crossed his arms and shook his head.

“Then go to bed,” Tony said. “You can give me your suit tomorrow.”

Nodding, Peter turned to leave. 

“Hey,” Tony said, and Peter looked back at him. “Sleep tight, buddy, okay?”

Peter gave him a weak smile. “You, too.”

Tony leaned back against the kitchen island when Peter had left, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, his fingers tight around the marble. His eyes found the glass on the top, untouched as of yet. He thought about Howard, about shouting matches and broken trust and bruises on his skin. Tony was ashamed to admit that his first instinct had been to shout Peter into submission, to take a few sips of vodka and let the alcohol take over, because it was easier to blame that than himself when he eventually _would_ regret it. It was an old instinct, a familiar reaction to being overwhelmed. Something he’d struggled to overcome. Sometimes, it still reared its ugly head. If his father had seen him just now, he would have scoffed and called him weak. 

Tony shook the thought off and grabbed the glass, pouring the content into the sink before continuing up to the workshop. “I am better than you,” he murmured as the lights dimmed into night-mode in his wake.

***

When Peter got up the next morning, Tony was already on the phone with someone from the DODC and only put a plate with scrambled eggs and bacon down for him before he retreated to the workshop again. Peter tried not to be worried about Tony still being angry with him, but he couldn’t get rid of the nagging concern until they headed down to the garage and Tony finally hung up the phone.

“So,” he said carefully, “what’s going on?”

Tony looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re benched.”

“I _know_,” Peter answered. “I can still ask, though.”

Tony didn’t answer until he pulled out of the garage and into the early morning traffic of Manhattan. “They got all the prisoners out alive.” He stopped at a red light. “They’re being questioned, then they’re being sent home. Apparently, Umbra runs a very successful human trafficking business. Even used to be in kahoots with a Canadian government agency called Department K.”

“Kay Property Management,” Peter muttered.

“What?” Tony asked, glancing at him.

“The property … Karen said it belongs to a company called Kay Property Management.”

Tony clenched his jaw. “Probably fake then.”

“They’ve got properties all over America and Canada.”

“I’ll have the DODC check it out,” Tony said with a nod.

Peter looked out the window, watching the people on the sidewalk. “So, this Department K. What does it do?”

“It _was_ responsible for covert operations. It was shut down recently. They were connected to something called the Weapon X Program and it got too hot for some of the politicians involved when details were leaked to the public.” 

Peter frowned. “Weapon X?”

Tony huffed a breath, shifting uncomfortably. “Those guys who caught you a couple of years ago belonged to them. They experiment on enhanced humans and try to recreate their powers in humans who don’t have any.” He cleared his throat and met Peter’s eyes. “They created Deadpool. And Deadpool’s been trying to kill them all since then.”

Peter ducked his head. 

Tony pulled into the school’s parking lot. “So everything is connected,” he said, killing the engine. “Umbra and his gang show up in New York, use the registry as their personal shopping list and when the mayor shuts down the Registration Act, they try to kill him.”

Peter nodded, seeing where Tony was going with this, and continued, “And they send regular guys who just wanted to buy some weapons to rob the fundraiser and got them to disguise themselves as enhanced. One of them was supposed to kill Mayor Lewin to make sure that the public presses for the Registration Act to be reactivated. The Shocker organized it to get into Umbra’s good graces.” He frowned in confusion. “Why not just send enhanced people, though? I’m sure they would find somebody who’d be willing to do it for the right price.”

Tony cleared his throat. “Because there are no enhanced people working for Umbra.”

Peter stared at him in surprise. “What?” 

“Not a single one,” Tony said. “All the guys in that warehouse last night were regular guys.”

“So Umbra is … he’s just a regular guy, too?”

“We don’t know,” Tony said. “The guys arrested last night aren’t talking.”

“But none of them is Umbra?”

Tony shrugged. “We’re pretty sure of that.” 

Peter crossed his arms, looking out the window. “So he’s still out there.”

“Yeah,” Tony answered. “And probably waking up right now to discover that he lost several million dollars worth of merchandise.”

Peter swallowed against a bout of nausea, thinking back to the night he’d woken up strapped to a table, a scientist leering at him. “People would pay that much? Why?”

“Collections,” Tony answered. 

Peter frowned at him.

“We’ve encountered it before,” Tony explained. “People with too much money and a sadistic streak who keep slaves in their basement. Only in this case, the slaves are enhanced.”

“How does Deadpool fit into all of this?”

Tony heaved a sigh. “What I know is that he was on a rescue mission. He got caught.”

Peter nodded slowly.

“Hey,” Tony said and Peter looked at him. Tony’s dark eyes were serious, his expression firm. “I don’t want you associating with that psychopath, okay? He comes near you, you run.”

Peter swallowed, his eyes flitting towards the side. He understood where Tony was coming from, but he also knew, somehow, that Deadpool wasn’t really out to hurt him. That he wasn’t an evil person at heart.

“Okay?” Tony asked again, catching Peter’s eyes.

“He saved my life once.”

“Yes, he did,” Tony answered. “And now you saved his. You’re even.” 

***

Peter’s danger-sense started to pick up on _something_ during his lunch break, while he was sitting on a bench opposite Ryan and Cammy in the schoolyard, bathing in the warm sunlight and the knowledge that they only had two more days of school before the holidays would start. Peter swallowed and looked around furtively, trying to find the origin for his unease.

“Sick,” Ryan said, scrolling through his phone. 

Cammy was leaning against him, picking tomatoes off the sandwich she’d bought in the canteen. “What?” she asked. 

“The stuff that went down in Queens last night,” Ryan said, catching Peter’s attention. “They say that it was a human trafficking thing. Enhanced people were the victims.” 

Cammy grimaced. “Sick.” She bit into her sandwich. “What do you think about the Registration Act, Peter?”

He looked at Cammy, caught off-guard. “What?” 

“Should the Registration Act be in place or not? We discussed it in AP US Politics today. Ryan thinks it should be banned, I think it should stay. What’s your take?”

Ryan rolled his eyes at his girlfriend. “It’s got to do with basic human rights. None of them _asked_ to be like this, did they?”

“_Some_ of them maybe,” Cammy answered. “I’m not saying make the list public or anything, but some of those guys can be really dangerous. Like those who attacked the mayor.”

“Those were normal humans, though,” Ryan said.

“Or maybe that’s what they’re saying to shift the blame away from enhanced people.”

Peter’s phone rang, saving him from having to join the discussion. He glanced at the screen, frowning at the unfamiliar number. “I better take this,” he said, getting up from the bench and grabbing his backpack. “See you guys later.”

“Later,” Cammy called after him, giggling when Ryan leaned in for a kiss. 

Peter picked up the call, stopping in the shadow of a tree halfway towards the school’s entrance. “Hello?” 

_“Hey, Peter.” _

He froze, his breath catching in surprise. “Harry?” 

_“Yeah.” _

“Harry,” he said, smiling. “Hi.” 

_“You’re such a dork,”_ Harry answered and Peter laughed. _“I’m allowed one phone call a day and my dad said you’re pining for me, so I thought I’d waste it on you.” _

“Where are you?” Peter asked.

_“Some clinic in the wilderness with a bunch of rich people. Haven’t been to this one before. The food’s nice, though, and they’ve got a pool.” _

Peter ducked his head and crossed his free arm over his chest. Harry sounded as if he was fine and in the mood to joke, but his voice was off, hiding pain. “How are you?”

Harry was silent for a long moment. _“It’s hard. But nothing I haven’t done before.”_ He sighed. _“Listen, I … I told my dad that I would only do this if I can stay at Rochester and he agreed.” _

Peter smiled. “Cool.” 

_“Yeah. I think he’s gonna give you the right to call him in case I seem off, but whatever.”_ He huffed a breath. _“I guess he’s glad I didn’t die.” _

“I’m _sure_ he is,” Peter said. 

_“Would have been bad press.” _

“Harry,” Peter said sadly, but he didn’t know how to continue.

_“Whatever, at least … you know, I get to stay.” _

There was a female voice on Harry’s end, saying _“Almost time for your session”_ and Harry sighed. 

_“Listen, Pete, I gotta go. Maybe I’ll waste another call on you in a couple of days.” _

Peter smiled. “Yeah … that would be okay, I guess.”

_“Don’t pine too much.”_ With that, Harry hung up the phone. 

Peter saved the number in his contacts and walked towards the school building, a smile on his face … until his danger-sense flared up again in warning. He turned his head to look towards one of the school windows instinctively and his eyes widened when he saw a man in a hoodie standing there. While Peter looked at him, he pulled off the hood and he saw it was Deadpool. He tilted his head to motion Peter inside.

Peter ran inside and up the stairs, his feet carrying him to the chem lab where students were allowed to carry out experiments in the afternoons. At the moment, it was empty. Aside from Deadpool standing in the corner, hands buried in his jeans pockets and the hoodie pulled into his scarred face. 

“How did you get in here?” Peter asked.

“Your security is not what it’s cracked up to be,” Deadpool answered. “I think we missed the chance to talk yesterday.” 

“About what?”

“Umbra.” 

Peter drew in a breath and looked towards the closed door. He wasn’t sure that nobody would come in at any moment, so he had to make this quick. “Listen, Tony doesn’t want me involved in it. He doesn’t want me to see you, you should really go.”

“What do you know about him?” Deadpool asked as if Peter hadn’t even spoken.

Peter frowned at him. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“I’ve got selective hearing,” Deadpool answered, stepping closer. “What do you know about Umbra?”

Peter clenched his jaw. “What do _you_ know about him?”

“Enough to know that he’s still out there. And he will come for _you_ next.”

Peter swallowed, his hands clenching. “How do you know?”

“There were cameras all over that place, bambi. He knows Spider-Man cost him a fortune. He will come for you. It would probably be better if you don’t show your masked self for a little while.”

Peter stared at him. “And what are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna do what I set out to do from the start and put a bullet between his eyes. Unfortunately, I don’t know enough about him to track him down. I got lucky the first time around.”

“Lucky? He imprisoned you.”

“I was biding my time.”

“Yeah, you were doing a great job,” Peter answered snidely. 

Deadpool’s dark eyes narrowed. “How did _you_ find him?” He stepped towards Peter, who shook his head and held a hand out in warning. Deadpool stopped in his tracks, close enough to reach out and grab Peter if he wanted to. 

But Peter’s danger-sense wasn’t giving off a warning, humming softly along as it always did when he was close to Deadpool. “I got lucky, too.” 

Deadpool raised an eyebrow.

Peter sighed and gave in. “I picked up on the energy signature those inhibitors emit.”

“That won’t work again.”

Peter shrugged, scuffing his shoe against the linoleum. “Yeah.” 

Deadpool stared at him, his eyes still narrowed, his posture tense. Then he slumped a little, sighing. “There was a woman,” he said. “_That’s_ how I found him. She bought my services, wanted me to get someone out of Umbra’s claws. Something went wrong, though. They knew I was coming. I have no clue who told them. I thought it was the chick, but … I heard they killed her for calling me in.” He shrugged. “I never got the guy out.” He smiled bitterly. “So I need intel. And something tells me Irondad has it.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “He won’t talk to you.”

“That’s where _you_ come in.”

Peter pulled a face.

“Listen to me,” Deadpool said, stepping closer. Peter didn’t move back this time, recognizing the expression on Deadpool’s face as deadly earnest, but not angry or threatening. “I wanted to take him down for a while now. He’s got connections to our friends from Weapon X.”

“Yeah, I heard about that.”

“They _created_ him.”

Peter’s eyes widened. 

“Guess you didn’t know _that_,” Deadpool said. “They did to him what they did to me, but he walked away with his face intact.” He huffed a breath. “I hated them for what they did. Umbra didn’t. He became their pet, then their ally. Selling enhanced people to them if they were interested, buying enhanced people from them and selling them on.”

“Did he want to sell _you_?”

“No,” Deadpool said. “I was there for entertainment. You’ve got no idea how many people pay money for the thrill to kill. Umbra profited off the fact that I got up again whenever they shot me.”

Peter frowned. “How do you mean? You’ve got a good healing factor?”

“I’ve got an immortality factor,” Deadpool answered. 

Peter stared at him.

“Yeah,” Deadpool said. “Put a bullet between my eyes, I get up again. Explosions, beheadings, knifings, you name it, I’ve done it and yet, I’m still here.”

Peter swallowed. “Is that …” He bit his lip, not daring to ask about the condition of Deadpool’s skin.

Deadpool seemed to understand him either way. “No. The scars are just part of the mutation.”

Peter ducked his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Deadpool answered.

Peter looked up at him again, keeping his voice soft as he asked, “So he kept you to … to kill you?”

Deadpool nodded.

“That’s awful.”

“I was with them for three months. Died a hundred ways during that time. Cancer got me the most.” 

Peter frowned. “Cancer?” 

“Without my powers, I’m just a guy with stage four cancer, bambi. That’s why I ever volunteered for this shitshow. They told me they could heal me. That’s their stick, how they lure people in. Every time they activated that inhibitor, cancer caught up with me. Easier for them to keep me under control when I can hardly move.”

Peter felt sick to his stomach, the very thought of people being this cruel was revolting.

“You see that he has to be stopped, baby boy,” Deadpool said. “He sells children, men, women. If they are enhanced, they are fair game to him. He sells them to rich guys who think that having a mutant chained up in their basement is the height of sophistication. Should I tell you what some of those creeps do to them?”

Peter shook his head. He really didn’t want him to. He knew enough about human trafficking to have an idea.

Deadpool nodded, accepting that. “I need access to the guys who worked for him, but I have no clue where they are. Irondad does.”

Peter swallowed. “I’m just not sure whether Tony would want to speak to you. He was pretty clear-”

“He wants to catch Umbra, doesn’t he?” Deadpool asked, his eyes narrowed in anger.

“Yes, of course.”

“I can find him myself, but I’d be faster if I can get one of his guys to spill the beans.”

“I’m sure they’re already interrogating them.”

“You’re cute, bambi,” Deadpool said. “You don’t get Umbra’s guys to talk by interrogating them. You need to be a bit more persuasive.”

Peter swallowed. “I still don’t think Tony …”

Peter’s danger-sense sparked and he felt Deadpool grab his shirt to push him up against a wall. Peter wrapped his fingers around Deadpool’s wrists, feeling his feet leave the floor almost entirely as Deadpool held him pressed against the wall, looming over him menacingly. Peter fought his body’s instinct to defend himself, knowing somehow that Deadpool wasn’t out to hurt him. He had a strong grip, but he was clearly reigning himself in. He leaned in close. “Don’t tell me what you think Stark wants,” he said angrily. “Tell him I’ve got _all_ the intel on Umbra he needs. I’ve got _all_ the names of his buyers and suppliers. _All_ the info they need to take down a ring of human traffickers spanning the world. All I want in return is five minutes with Umbra’s head-honchos.” He pressed harder against Peter. “A little rat like you isn’t going to stop us.”

Peter’s danger-sense increased, his grip around Deadpool’s wrists tightening as fear started to settle in his stomach. “Let go of me.” 

“I will kill you if you don’t speak to Stark!”

“Let go!” Peter yelled, pushing Deadpool back with a kick to his chest. 

They fell to the floor, Deadpool’s grip loosening enough for Peter to break out of it and roll out of his reach, flipping onto his feet and falling into a defensive stance. 

But Deadpool wasn’t coming after him. He was lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with a strangely vacant expression on his face, his lips moving silently. 

Peter’s danger-sense calmed and he relaxed his body a little, waiting. Finally, Deadpool sat up, slumping forwards and releasing a long breath before he turned his head to look at him. He looked almost ashamed. “Sorry, baby boy. They break through every now and again.”

Peter stared at him, still feeling his heart beat into his throat. “Who?”

Deadpool looked away, getting to his feet and burying one hand in his hoodie pocket to hold out a crumpled-up piece of paper. 

Peter accepted it hesitantly. 

“This is my number. Let me know, bambi.” With that, he walked away.


	14. Chapter 14

“No,” Tony said, walking away towards the kitchen and ripping open the fridge to get a bottle of water out. He’d intended to have a quiet evening in, ordering pizza, maybe spend some time in the workshop with Peter. He hadn’t expected _this_. Peter had only hesitantly told him about his encounter with Deadpool on their way home and Tony had felt his pulse quicken in response, a nervous energy going through him. 

Sometimes, he was afraid that Peter was way past having the chance at an ordinary teenage life. It wasn’t rare for Tony to wonder if that was partly his own fault. He’d been the one to pull Peter deeper into the vigilante life, had given him the suit and the freedom. 

It had to stop somewhere.

He heard Peter’s steps following him hurriedly. “Tony, don’t you think-”

“I’m not making deals with insane mercenaries. No way.” Tony turned around to him, pointing the water bottle at him with his eyes narrowed dangerously. “He went near you? I’m going to kill him.”

Peter shook his head frantically. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“That sounded differently a few minutes ago.” 

“I don’t think he meant to do that.”

Tony scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, is that supposed to make me feel better about this?”

Peter crossed his arms, his fingers clenching into the sleeves of his denim jacket. “I _know_,” he said. “I _know_ he killed people. I know he’s not … quite right.”

Tony cracked the bottle open and turned away, heading for the stairs to go up to their workshop. 

“Please listen to me, Tony.”

He faltered and turned back around to look at Peter. 

A mistake. 

Peter’s dark eyes were wide and pleading, his hands folded on top of the kitchen island. “Please.” 

Tony rolled his eyes, trying to avoid Peter’s earnest stare. He was very aware that he’d already lost, though. Peter didn’t pull out the puppy eyes very often, which told Tony how serious he was about this. He sipped on the water and returned to the kitchen corner. “Damn those puppy eyes.” 

Peter’s lips quirked up into a tentative smile. “Works on Ned every time.”

Tony chuckled and shook his head. 

Peter sobered, turning earnest. “He has information, Tony. People who are suffering could be freed, people responsible for it could be put into jail.”

“And if he were a good guy, he would give out that information without any strings attached.”

“I’m not saying he’s a _good guy_. I’m saying he’s probably not a _bad_ one.” Peter swallowed. “Listen, I’m sure he’d use that information to track all of them down himself but he’s just … desperate. Umbra got to him, he seems to be scared of him. All he wants is to get rid of him.”

Tony frowned at Peter. What he’d said didn’t really fit with what Tony knew about Wilson. He didn’t seem the type to get scared. Or to have emotions of _any_ kind. But Tony had never spoken to Wilson, not really. Peter had. And even though Peter carried his heart on his sleeve and had the tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt, Tony couldn’t just dismiss his words as if they didn’t mean anything. That had been Howard’s style. He heaved a sigh. “By killing him?”

Peter stepped closer. “We can stop him from doing that.”

Tony’s eyebrows rose. “_We_? You are going _nowhere_, remember?”

“He listens to me, though.” 

Tony raised his eyebrows, doubtful. 

Peter grimaced and amended, “Well, kind of. I’m not sure he would listen to _you_.”

Tony huffed a breath, tapping his foot against the floor, indecisive. Wilson _did_ seem to have a lot of valuable information. Ignoring that fact just because he didn’t trust him seemed wrong. “You’re aware that I am definitely not about to let him loose on Umbra’s guys, right?”

Peter shook his head and stepped around the island. “No, but … maybe we … _you_ can convince him to work with you on this. Use his information to somehow track Umbra down?” He came to stand in front of Tony. “He doesn’t have the same tech on his hands that you do. Maybe he’s sitting on a piece of information that might just do the trick if F.R.I.D.A.Y. runs it through her system.”

Tony groaned. “I don’t know about this, Peter.”

“They put him through hell, Tony, all because he was trying to _rescue_ someone. The least you can do is hear him out.” Peter stared at him pleadingly. “I think he just wants you to listen to him.”

Tony crossed his arms, pinning Peter with an earnest stare. “You vouch for this guy?”

Peter looked at him, his eyes wide, and he seemed to think about the answer.

“This is the moment, Spidey,” Tony said. “I don’t like the guy, I don’t trust him, I don’t want him anywhere near my kid but … _you_ talked to him, _you_ tell me whether he’s sincere, _you_ tell me whether to give it a shot.”

Peter crossed his arms as well, mirroring Tony’s stance. “Yeah. You should give it a shot.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said, clapping one hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I hope I’m not going to regret this, but … text him.”

***

Deadpool sent them an address in Brooklyn to meet at just twenty minutes later. 

Tony and Peter were waiting for the elevator to arrive when Tony’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID before answering, “Pepper?” 

Peter looked at his own phone. 

_Be there in 15_, Deadpool had sent. 

Peter tapped out a quick reply. _We need at least 20. _

“Oh crap, I forgot and we’re on our way out,” Tony said. Peter watched him brush a hand through his hair. “No, no, I can sign it, no problem.”

His phone vibrated with a new message and Peter checked it. 

_I’ll wait. _

“It’ll take two minutes. Just tell Alex to meet us in the lobby and we’ll stop there on our way to the garage.”

The elevator doors opened. 

“Yeah, bye.” Tony hung up and they stepped into the elevator. Tony pressed the button for the lobby instead of the garage.

“What is it?” Peter asked.

“There’s something I need to sign. It’s only gonna take a minute but it’s important.” 

The elevator opened to the busy lobby of Avengers Tower and they stepped out, remaining in the area behind the reception, where it was a little more private. It was late afternoon, so many people were still around. The sound of them walking and talking echoed through the large space, turnstiles beeping to let employees in and the phones at the reception desk ringing, a guide starting up a tour for a group near the visitor center with an explanation of the history of Stark Industries. 

And there was something _off_. 

Peter’s danger-sense was humming ever so softly, disquieted, and he looked around automatically, searching for Deadpool even though he knew that the other man was half-way across the city. However, Deadpool was the only person who made his danger-sense go off in that strange, muted way (there was no _real_ danger, but _something_) and …

“Mr. Stark.” 

Peter startled and turned to see Alex approaching them quickly, holding a leather binder in his hands. 

Tony walked towards him. “Alex.” He looked at Peter over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” 

Peter nodded, watching them retreat into a quiet corner. His danger-sense kept thrumming. He could ignore it, of course, just wait for Tony to return and be off towards Brooklyn, but he wasn’t sure whether the danger was something which wasn’t just threatening him, but everyone in the building. 

He stepped around the reception desk hesitantly, looking to see whether he could find Deadpool among the bustling crowd … and coming up empty. And yet his danger-sense intensified, pulling him forward, his apprehension of people recognizing him forgotten for a moment because something was _wrong_. 

Something was _happening_. 

_ **Now. ** _

Peter tried to turn and call Tony’s name, but a hand landed on his shoulder and words were said close to his ear, “Don’t move. Don’t speak.” 

Peter wanted to whirl around, to shrug the man off, to push him away, demand who he was, what he wanted, why … but he _didn’t_ move. And he _didn’t_ speak. A low, garbled noise escaped him instead, a sound not unlike a moan of pain, but nothing more.

His breathing quickened, fear thick in his chest and clogging up his throat. His body felt weighted down, unable to move and he couldn’t open his mouth no matter how hard he tried. 

Something was wrong. 

He tried to scream, but all that escaped was a whimper and the hand tightened, pulling him into the side of a tall man’s body in what felt almost like a companionable gesture. “Come with me, _Spider-Man_.” And to his horror, Peter started to move, to walk beside the man as if he was _choosing_ to. _But he wasn’t._ He couldn’t turn his head, couldn’t see who was leading him away. A feeling of helplessness swept through him. Suddenly, he wanted people to recognize him, to stop them for a picture … nobody did. 

So they kept walking towards the doors of the building. Towards the security idly watching people come and go. Peter started to feel hopeful again. Surely they’d know something was wrong. They knew who Peter was, they wouldn’t just let him leave with some random stranger, they’d _do_ something …

“Smile,” the man whispered. 

Peter tried not to, he really did, but he couldn’t stop his lips from curling upwards. It was probably mind control, Peter thought, hysteria making his throat clench painfully. The man was very likely enhanced, his words or his touch causing Peter to obey … 

“Mr. Parker,” one of the guards said. His name was Frank, and he always called Peter ‘Mr. Parker’, even now that his name was ‘Parker-Stark’ and he always smiled at him warmly. Frank’s eyes wandered up to look at the man leading Peter away … and he tipped his hat and kept smiling. “Going for a walk again?”

“Clears the head,” the man answered.

And, oh God, that voice was so familiar, so _very_ familiar. In his head, Peter screamed, he squirmed, he turned in the tight grip around his shoulders and yelled for Tony, he fought and fought and fought _and fought_ … but on the outside, he just smiled and walked through the door. 

The last thing he heard was Frank calling after them, “Have a nice day, Mr. Parker. You too, Dr. Olson.”

***

Tony ran down the busy sidewalk, not paying any attention to the people who were looking at him strangely or with curiosity, bumping into a group of tourists too busy handling their selfie-stick to look around them, and then came to a stop when F.R.I.D.A.Y. whispered to him, _“Right here, boss.” _

He’d donned the glasses he’d built to host F.R.I.D.A.Y. as soon as he’d noticed that Peter had left his immediate vicinity, hoping they’d help him find him quicker among the people crowded in Avengers Tower’s lobby. His chest had started to clench when F.R.I.D.A.Y. had been unable to see Peter anywhere. Tony’s calls had gone unanswered, so he’d asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to locate Peter’s phone. 

Now, he swallowed a bout of anxiety-induced nausea as he crouched down and picked the cellphone up from where it had been lying abandoned by the curb not far away from Avengers Tower, unnoticed by the crowds and traffic going by.

There was a crack running down the display and it didn’t light up when Tony pressed the home button. 

He looked around frantically. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., locate his watch.”

_“I’m afraid that’s not possible, boss.” _

“What?” 

_“Peter used the GPS of the Mark I to track down the van at Gotham Hall. He never replaced it.” _

Tony’s heart sank. “What? No.” He raised a trembling hand, rubbing it over the scars on his chest. “No, no, that can’t be.” He hurried back towards the Tower, pushing through the doors into the lobby, his phone already against his ear. 

_“Hey, Tony,”_ Rhodey said.

“I need you here,” he answered.

Rhodey seemed to pick up on his distraught tone because he immediately asked, _“What’s wrong?” _

“Peter’s missing.”

_“What?” _

“I turned away,” Tony said, his steps faltering and his free hand coming up to run through his hair in agitation, “for _two_ minutes and he’s just … he’s just _gone_, Rhodey.” He was aware that he sounded like a worried father who’d lost their toddler at the grocery store. People were looking at him, but he didn’t care. “Somebody _took_ him.” 

_“I’ll be right there. I’m taking a suit, wait for me in the penthouse.” _

Tony gave Rhodey credit for believing him immediately instead of doubting his words and hung up the phone. 

“Mr. Stark?”

He turned around, startled, and found himself looking at a security guard with a friendly face and kind eyes. 

“Are you looking for Mr. Parker?”

“Yes, have you seen him?”

“He left about twenty minutes ago,” the guard said. “He was fine. No need to worry, sir.”

Tony stared at him. “He _left_? Alone?”

“No,” the guard answered. “He was with Dr. Olson.”

Tony’s heart skipped several beats. “What?” 

“They take walks sometimes,” the guard said. He looked at Tony with a frown. “Sir, are you okay?”

“No,” Tony said, backing away. “No, please.” He turned and hurried back towards the elevator leading up to the penthouse in a daze. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., pull up security footage for the lobby. Face recognition for Peter, timeframe the last thirty minutes.” He stumbled into the elevator and grabbed onto the rail, clenching his fingers around it. His heart was racing, his chest ached.

_“Got it.” _

“Show me.” His glasses came to life, displaying the video directly in front of his eyes. 

Peter inching away from Tony and Alex, his arms crossed, looking around uncomfortably … and then there was Olson, putting an arm around him in a friendly manner and saying something and Peter just … went blank. 

“What the hell?” Tony asked. 

Peter’s face became neutral, his arms hanging slackly by his side, but his eyes … his eyes were moving almost frantically as Olson started to lead him away. The angle changed and Tony saw Peter approach the door, saw an eerie smile light up his face after another whisper from Olson. It was so _unlike_ Peter, so _lifeless_ and _fake_, but Tony guessed that he was only one able to see right through it, because he knew Peter so well, knew the way his eyes and nose crinkled when he smiled, his whole face lit up by joy, _alive_. 

This was _nothing_ like that. 

This was a very poor impression of that smile. 

It was the last thing Tony saw before Peter and Olson stepped through the doors and got into the backseat of a car without license plates that pulled away from the curb as soon as the door closed. 

The elevator stopped and Tony entered the penthouse. He faltered just inside, his chest heaving. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. F.R.I.D.A.Y. was saying something but it was not identifiable because of the static in his ears, becoming louder and louder and drowning out everything around him, his vision tunneling. He felt strangely detached, something hard hitting his knees and then hands grasping his shoulders and shaking him. 

“… -ony? Snap out of …”

He reminded himself that he couldn’t lose it right now. He just _couldn’t_. Because Peter was out there with Olson who wasn’t a good guy and Tony had felt it, had _known_ all along, and he’d still let him get close. Way too close. 

“Tony!”

He gasped for breath.

“Hey, are you with me?” That was Rhodey in front of him, still clad in his War Machine suit, Tony’s shoulders in his hands and a worried frown on his face. “Talk to me.”

“He’s got Peter,” Tony gasped. He hated how weak he sounded, how broken and exhausted. And yet, that was how he felt. Weak, broken, exhausted … and so very stupid.

“Who’s got Peter?” Rhodey asked.

“Olson,” Tony answered. 

Rhodey frowned. “Olson? But why-”

“I don’t … I think he works for Umbra.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened.

“Rhodey,” Tony said, one hand clasping around the bulky wrist of Rhodey’s suit, and he felt hot tears press against the corners of his eyes, a distinct feeling of something indescribable rising up within him and he _knew_ this feeling. He’d felt the same way when he’d brought Peter home from the hospital, when he’d grasped Peter’s wrist across a table in the hospital’s canteen, when he’d held Peter close in his workshop at the Compound, when Peter had hung in his arms unresponsive and dying, when they’d hugged in the aftermath of it all, when they’d stood on the balcony to watch the fireworks, when Peter had shown him his parents’ graves ... it was a feeling he _hated_, a feeling he _loved_, a feeling strongly associated with only one person in his life and he couldn’t help but choke on a sob as he said, “Rhodey, he’s got _my kid_.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I'm so overwhelmed at the response the last chapter received! Thank you for reading and thank you especially for commenting and leaving kudos, it makes my day! :)
> 
> **This chapter now also features a stunning piece of art made by shoyzz-art!  
Please be aware that this chapter contains some very creepy behavior towards a minor (Peter) and deals with the threat of human trafficking.**

Peter woke with a scream, his voice breaking as he reared away from the thing that hurt him, _burnt_ him.

He didn’t know _where_ he was or _what_ was going on, he just knew that he had to get _away_.

Disoriented, he slammed into a wall and reacted on instinct, crawling upwards to tuck himself into a corner as he got his bearings. His muscles convulsed painfully, a sharp pain sitting underneath his ribs where he’d been struck, his vision blurry and a painfully bright light digging into his retinas. He smelled mold and dust and he could hear at least two other people breathing, one of them laughing softly. His danger-sense was on edge, steadily thrumming away, warning him from an impending threat.

Peter’s vision cleared when he blinked a few times. He was in a window-less, empty room with concrete walls. Whatever building it belonged to, it must have been abandoned for a while already; rusty pipes lined the ceilings and chunks of concrete had broken out of the walls.

A portable floodlight set up by the only exit, a heavy-looking thick steel door, didn’t match the picture, though. A man stood by the floodlight, looking at Peter through the lens of a camcorder and next to him, Gareth Olson was leaning against the wall.

For a moment, Peter was lost as to how he got here, then he remembered Gareth’s hand on his shoulder, walking out of Avengers Tower and getting into a car, trying to fight but being unable to. Trying to scream but not getting a word out. He remembered Gareth’s fingers closing around his arm, digging Peter’s phone out his jacket pocket and dropping it by the curb before slamming the car door closed before looking at him with a triumphant smile. “Sleep.”

Everything had gone dark after that.

The crackle of electricity made him turn his head towards a third man he hadn’t noticed before. He was standing much closer to Peter, clad in a leather jacket and wearing a cruel smile on his face. His nose looked as if it had been broken several times and a scar ran down his temple towards his eye. He held a taser in his hands. The same kind of taser Peter had encountered only once before, the night the penthouse had been attacked.

“You got him crawling up the wall?” Gareth asked, watching Peter with vague interest.

The man with the camcorder nodded, “Yeah, we’re good.”

Gareth looked at the man with the taser. “Get him down.”

Peter didn’t give him the time to approach. He pushed off the wall and hit taser guy with a kick to his face, sending him sprawling to the floor. Next, he charged at Gareth, grabbing him by the collar and shoving him back against the wall. He intended to hit him, to gain enough time to activate the web-shooter in his watch and pin all three of them in place. But Gareth looking at him calmly, almost as if he was bored, caught Peter off-guard for one moment too long. It was enough time for Gareth’s right hand to come up and wrap around Peter’s wrist. When he spoke, he didn’t even raise his voice. “Kneel. Stay still.”

It was like the fight bled out of him and his muscles went lax. Peter fell to his knees, the cracked concrete floor stinging through his jeans painfully, his wrist tugged upwards awkwardly when Gareth didn’t let go of it. He tried to get up, tried to get his muscles to cooperate but he _couldn’t_. His breathing grew panicked, his fingers curling into fists but not getting any further than that.

Gareth seemed entirely unfazed, his attention on the man with the camcorder. “Edit the video and post it. Give access to our top ten.”

“Just the wall-crawling or-”

“Him kicking Neil as well. That jump was impressive.”

Neil, who was getting back to his feet with a groan, sent Gareth a poisonous glare at that. His nose was bleeding, probably broken yet again.

Gareth smiled down at Peter and if it weren’t for the icy look in his blue eyes, Peter would have almost thought that they were back in the lab.

He tried to move away, to fight … but it was as if his body wasn’t his own, as if he wasn’t the one in control, no matter how hard he tried.

Gareth chuckled at his struggle. “List enhanced senses and a healing factor. Also, enhanced strength. Link to some YouTube videos of Spider-Man for further information.”

The man with the camcorder nodded and left, the door clanging shut.

Peter stared up at Gareth, noticing a gun tucked into his belt underneath the light jacket he was wearing, his voice shaking despite himself when he asked, “What are you doing to me?” He was relieved that he was able to speak at least.

Gareth’s free hand wound into Peter’s hair before he let go of his wrist, tugging painfully to tilt his head upwards and forcing him to look into the floodlight. Peter winced and moved his eyes away as much as possible, refusing to close them. Gareth did him a favor by crouching down to his level, making it easy for Peter to meet his cold stare head-on. “I told you it’s not telepathy.”

Peter saw Neil move towards them out of the corner of his eye, brandishing the taser as he growled, “Little bastard.”

“He did exactly what I expected him to,” Gareth answered calmly.

“You _wanted_ him to kick me?” Neil asked angrily.

Gareth heaved a long-suffering sigh. “It looks good on the video. Leave us. Wait outside.”

Neil played with the trigger of the taser, electricity humming to life for a second, but he didn’t argue, the door slamming shut with a little more force than necessary as he left.

Gareth was left alone with Peter, his fingers curled tightly into Peter’s hair even though it wasn’t necessary for him to hold Peter in place. He couldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried. He was sure his struggle was reflected on his face, though, because Gareth’s lips curled into a smile the longer the silence between them stretched on. “It’s a sort of mind control,” he finally explained. “Only works when I’m in contact with someone, but as you can see, that is quite enough.”

Peter swallowed, wincing against the uncomfortable position he was forced into. “You work for Umbra?”

Gareth chuckled. “You’re smarter than that, Peter. I _am_ Umbra.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat, his fingers flexing slowly as he continued his fight against the influence Gareth had over his body.

Gareth’s expression twisted into something almost sad as he leaned closer. “Why did you not let this go, Peter?” he asked. “I asked you to. Stark asked you to. And yet, here we are.” He ducked his head for a moment before looking at Peter again. “And now, you cost me a lot of money. Those assets you freed last night were worth millions.”

Peter felt his heart beat out of his chest, but he managed to sound relatively steady when he answered, “Am I supposed to apologize?”

There was a glint in Gareth’s blue eyes, a spark of anger. He rose from his crouched position, his movement forcing Peter’s face to turn up again, his eyes staring straight into the floodlight. “Now I see why your uncle would think that you look just like your father.” His face twisted and his hand tightened, forcing Peter’s head into an even more uncomfortable angle as he towered over him. “You’re just as arrogant as him. Always thought he was the smartest guy in the room.”

A rush of anger went through Peter and he grunted with the effort to move, but his body wouldn’t obey him. His expression must have shown his anger, though, because Gareth smiled.

“He never suspected me to be playing S.H.I.E.L.D., though, isn’t that funny? The guy he invited over for dinner on a regular basis, the guy he allowed to hold his _baby_ … he never had a clue.” He shrugged, his expression almost wistful. “Then again, Nick Fury didn’t suspect me either and he’s the most paranoid person on this planet. They were so focused on taking down HYDRA that they never considered other players.”

Peter glared at him. “Like Weapon X.”

Gareth seemed mildly impressed. “You did your homework.”

“They created you.”

He shrugged. “I was a very sick little boy. They found me when I was in college, before I met your mother. When they realized that she’d caught S.H.I.E.L.D.’s attention, it was easy enough to befriend her, to use her to get in.” His face twisted into a bitter grin. “S.H.I.E.L.D. of course didn’t really care about my scientific background. My _powers_ were of use to them, that’s all.” His fingers loosened a little, picking up an almost comforting motion through Peter’s hair that made his skin crawl. “You know,” Gareth said, “even after I learned what you are, I was going to leave you alone. I felt I owed that to Mary. I really, _really_ liked your mother.” He bent his knees a bit, leaning closer. “She was … _everything_ to me.”

“You knew about Spider-Man,” Peter said.

“Oh, yes! Since I sent the guys to infiltrate the penthouse to get the Insight code. The one who escaped, who was caught by Deadpool … he called me on his way out, told me everything.” He smirked. “You know, I think Deadpool found out about that call, came after us to protect you. He’s weirdly … attached to you.” His hand moved to cup Peter’s jaw. It was a parental gesture, one that filled Peter with revulsion, his fingers curling into useless fists at his sides.

He tried to focus on something else, tried to find the answer to the one question he’d had since he’d found the young woman on the shore. “Why did you kill them?”

“I’m a businessman, Peter,” Gareth answered. “Sometimes, I miscalculate. Think there’s an interest in certain types of enhancements when there isn’t. Sometimes, a deal just falls through. And sometimes, an asset seems interesting until I can look at their powers myself and realize that they are nothing special.”

Peter felt anger bubble up within him, his eyes narrowing. “So you just _killed_ them? This isn’t a _business_; these are human lives, people like you. Why would you do that?”

“Because Weapon X needs to finance their experiments somehow and because I was offered to take over this operation after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and the pay …” He shrugged. “… was too good to pass up.”

Peter felt his anger increase, his muscles tensing. “Why bother to work for Oscorp and Stark Industries then?”

“I’m a scientist. I didn’t want to give up on that completely. But as enticing as human experimentation is, I didn’t want to work for Weapon X either. All these labs in abandoned warehouses and such … it’s disgusting.”

“Just as disgusting as human trafficking,” Peter answered coldly.

Gareth laughed. “You’re adorable, you know that? Trying so hard to step into your pretend-daddy’s footsteps but …” He crouched down again, coming eye to eye with him. “… I can feel you tremble.”

Peter stared at him, trying to suppress the mounting panic in his chest, trying to control his fear. It wasn’t as easy as it was when he wore the suit, no mask in place to hide his features.

The door opening was almost a relief, Gareth’s attention shifting to the man who’d operated the camcorder as he stepped in. “Boss, we’ve got an offer.”

Gareth smiled at Peter. “Already? I’ll be right there.” He waited until the door was closed before he said, “I wish you knew how disappointed I am it had to come to this. I wish we could have spent more time together.”

He leaned in unexpectedly and Peter tried to rear back instinctively, his danger-sense giving a warning spark. An irrational fear clawed its way up Peter’s throat because Gareth was too close, way too close and he couldn’t _move_ … choking out one word, “Don’t.”

Gareth just smiled, his thumb drawing a path from Peter’s cheek up to the corner of his eye. “You … really _do_ have her eyes,” he said, then he withdrew and sighed. “Unfortunately, you have become a threat, and I can’t ignore that. I made commitments, I had to handle some _very_ unsatisfied customers. That degenerate animal is out of its cage, thanks to you, without a doubt already trying to track me down again. And I’ve got Iron Man and the DODC breathing down my neck.”

“Tony won’t stop looking for me,” Peter said, and he hated that his voice cracked just a little.

“I have no doubt about that,” Gareth answered. “If push comes to shove, I will have to take care of that issue. Take him out.”

Peter’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. “Leave him alone.”

Gareth just smiled. “So brave. I wonder how long it’ll take before you stop fighting.”

“I _won’t_.”

“Right,” Gareth answered, “because you’re Spider-Man.” He pulled something out of the pocket of his jacket before holding it up for Peter to see. It was one of the inhibitors. Peter’s heart sank as Gareth laughed. “You know what’s funny? These people, they buy enhanced humans from me. They want them for their powers. But all they do is keep them in cages, with these inhibitors on, their powers gone unless they want to show them off. And when does that ever happen? Why do you think that is?”

Peter didn’t give an answer to that, swallowing against the feeling of heat in the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t give away how scared he was, especially of putting on that inhibitor. He remembered just how vulnerable he’d felt the first time he’d put one on. He wouldn’t have the slightest chance to escape if that happened again.

“I’ll tell you why,” Gareth said, “because rich, powerful people like owning things they don’t need just because they can. So whoever will buy you, he will _pay_ for Spider-Man, but all he _gets_ is just a scared little boy who cowers in a corner. And I think that little boy will stop fighting pretty quickly. Because you are _nothing_ without your powers and you’re _nothing_ without that suit and you’re _nothing_ without Tony Stark.”

Peter stared at him, biting his lip when he felt tears crawl into the corner of his eyes.

“Oh,” Gareth said, reaching up to wipe just under Peter’s eye, making a tear fall down his cheek, “did I hurt your feelings?”

Peter didn’t answer, but he also didn’t break eye contact, forcing himself to keep looking at Gareth, to show him that he wasn’t going to cower away.

Gareth smiled and then held the inhibitor up again. “Take it.”

Peter’s hand came up automatically, grasping the inhibitor.

“And now,” Gareth continued, “put it on.”

Peter felt his panic mount, his chest and throat squeezing together, the air becoming too thin to breathe. He put all his strength, all of his focus into _not_ moving his hand to obey … and lost. Before he knew it, the inhibitor tightened around his wrist automatically, adjusting so it wouldn’t cut off the blood circulation.

The effect was almost immediate.

The dizziness hit him first, his vision blurring out of focus and his hearing reducing as his danger-sense fizzled out into nothing. Gareth’s hand vanished from around his jawline and he got up, stepping away from Peter. The door squeaked as it was opened. “Take him,” he said and left.

Peter reared back when the two men approached him, their hands reaching for him. He batted them aside, but the move felt weak and uncoordinated. One of them laughed, the other reached for Peter more aggressively and grabbed his arm, easily pulling him off the floor. Peter tried to slap his hand against the concrete, tried to stick to it, but he was hauled away without trouble. He felt his panic strengthening as he was dragged down a corridor and thrown into a room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Peter sat there, on the floor, for a moment before he pulled himself together, looking around.

The room was tiny and windowless, a bare lightbulb flickering on the ceiling and a bit of rubble piled in one corner, rusty pipes sticking out of the ceiling and walls. Peter’s impact with the floor had whirled dust up into the air and it was clogging his nose and throat, a cough escaping him. Peter’s chest felt tight, his breathing panicked and weirdly restricted, his vision growing blurrier when he felt tears come on yet again. He blinked them away resolutely, but his vision remained slightly smeared.

There was only way out and it was through the door.

He staggered to his feet, smothering another cough against his sleeve, and curled his fingers around the door handle, trying to pull it open. It rattled, the lock staying in place. There was no superhuman strength to help him rip the door off its hinges. Peter slammed both his fists against the metal in frustration and fell to his knees. He tried to get his fingers underneath the inhibitor to pry the magnets holding it together apart, but the bracelet was too tight and he couldn’t gain any leverage.

His breathing started to wheeze and he coughed again as his airways tightened, his eyes widening when he realized _what_ was happening. Deadpool had said it himself: with the inhibitor, he was defenseless against the cancer raging through his body. The inhibitor hadn’t just taken away Peter’s perfect sight, his strength and enhanced hearing, it had reset _everything_ the bite had undone.

Including his asthma.

He coughed heavily, his breath catching in his chest as his breathing quickened. He tried to dig his fingers under the inhibitor again, more viciously this time, and still didn’t manage. He tried to call for help but he couldn’t get a word out.

He couldn’t breathe.

Peter pulled his legs to his chest and buried his face in his hands, his chest heaving with wheezing breaths, interrupted by coughs, sweat starting to gather on his forehead.

He needed to calm down.

Peter held his breath. His chest protested, coughs getting stuck in his throat. Tears leaked out of his eyes. Peter whimpered, feeling a pounding in his head increasing the longer he didn’t breathe, dark spots starting to dance in front of his eyes. Just when it felt like he couldn’t bear it anymore, he slowly breathed in through his nose, forcing himself not to take in too much at once. He released the breath just as slowly and carefully, his fingers tightening their grip around his leg until it hurt. He repeated the process several times, remembering Ben and May coaching him through two or three attacks during which he hadn’t had an inhalator on hand, their voices calm and steady.

The tightness in his chest let up slowly and his throat didn’t feel so closed up anymore. He slumped back against the door for a few minutes, just taking in normal breaths as his head cleared.

“Come on, Peter,” he whispered. “What are you gonna do?” He looked down at the inhibitor on his right wrist, though his bad vision didn’t really let him see much. He felt around it, noticing yet again that it closed smoothly, without a trace of there even being a way to open it. He needed one of the keys, but there was no way he’d be able to take it off one of the guys. Not without his enhanced strength.

His watch was on his left hand. He would be able to activate the web-shooter but without his powers, he would probably not be able to fight his way out of this even with their support. And he had never replaced the GPS tracker. “Idiot,” he whispered.

His eyes darted around the room, taking in the lightbulb, the rubble, the graffiti on the wall … and then back to the rubble.

An idea began to form.

***

_“Boss, you have a visitor.” _

Rhodey saw Tony shake his head, his focus not shifting away from the CCTV cameras he was using to follow the car that had taken Peter through the busy streets of Manhattan. He’d done this three times already, always losing the vehicle close to Queensboro Bridge. Each time he failed, his face grew a little bit paler, his stance a little bit tenser, the grim lines around his lips a little bit deeper. He was focused, dismissing F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s message with a terse, “Not now.”

Curiously, Rhodey looked at the screen closest to him, which had activated as soon as F.R.I.D.A.Y. had spoken, displaying the lobby entrance to the penthouse’s elevator.

He froze.

There was a man clad in a red and black suit including a mask with white eye lenses repeatedly pressing the elevator button while two security guards were pointing their guns at him, yelling something that wasn’t audible through the muted feed. Rhodey knew of course _who_ the person trying to get into the penthouse was. If the suit and the many weapons he was carrying weren’t a dead give-away, the two katanas he wore strapped to his back definitely were. “Uh … Tony? Take a look.”

Tony must have realized that Rhodey was serious because he tore his eyes away from the screens and turned to look at the feed as well. His eyes widened slightly. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, _“The lobby is being evacuated as we speak. Police was informed.” _

Tony sighed deeply and left the workshop quickly without another word.

Rhodey turned back to the screen, watching Wade Wilson alias Deadpool face off against the two guards. Whatever he said, the guards’ horrified faces made it clear that it wasn’t good. Rhodey crossed his arms, wondering whether he should get back into his suit, just to be on the safe side. Wilson wasn’t an ally. Then again, he wasn’t necessarily an enemy, either. In any case, Rhodey couldn’t help but feel slightly vulnerable in his t-shirt and tracksuit pants. He’d been on his way to physiotherapy when Tony had called and hadn’t taken the time to change, calling for his suit immediately.

Tony arrived in the lobby and Wilson turned around to him abruptly before he was ushered into elevator, leaving the guards behind looking at each other as if they’d seen a ghost.

The feed cut out.

Rhodey’s eyes found the screens with the CCTV feed of Manhattan’s streets instead and his teeth clenched. Peter had been gone for almost two hours and Rhodey could see that Tony was starting to lose it. He considered going against Tony’s express wishes and contacting Pepper. He was sure that her presence would help Tony as well. No matter how things had ended between them, Pepper loved Peter and she would want to know what was going on. But Tony didn’t want her to know, didn’t want her to come and for the moment, Rhodey was still willing to listen.

He heard two sets of footsteps coming closer and Wilson’s voice saying, “… got nice digs. Living the dream, right?”

Tony entered the workshop, Wilson right on his heels. Upon seeing Rhodey, though, he stopped dead and even with the mask covering up his expression, it wasn’t hard to determine what he felt. The white eye lenses widened almost comically, and he cupped his own face with both hands in delight. “OMG, it’s War Machine!”

Rhodey sighed deeply. “Did we _have_ to let him in?”

“He was _this_ close to stabbing my security guards,” Tony answered, settling back onto his chair to look at the video feeds again.

Rhodey rolled his eyes, looking back at Wilson. “Don’t touch anything.”

“I gotta tell you,” Wilson said, looking around the workshop in awe, “that’s gonna be difficult. I mean, this is basically Iron Man’s birth canal, isn’t it?” Rhodey pulled a face, keeping his eye on Wilson while he strolled through the room, ending in the corner in which the War Machine suit had taken up position, the shell open and waiting for Rhodey to step inside. “Can I take a selfie?” he asked.

“Just sit down and be quiet,” Rhodey snapped.

Wilson huffed a breath. “Grumpy,” he said. “Where’s Spidey? He likes me.”

Tony’s fists clenched, his shoulders pulling up defensively, and Rhodey intervened quickly, “Peter went missing.”

Wilson stilled, his hand half-raised to poke the War Machine suit in the eye. “Missing? Missing how?”

Tony heaved an angry breath, his dark eyes narrowed dangerously as he whirled around to glare at him. “Missing, as in _kidnapped_.”

“By who?”

Tony didn’t answer, so Rhodey said, “A guy who works here. We don’t know more than that, yet. We guess he’s working for Umbra.”

“Show me a picture,” Wilson said, coming over to them. His whole demeanor had shifted into something earnest and calm, on the edge of dangerous.

Rhodey looked at Tony questioningly, but he just turned towards the screens again, his foot tapping against the floor impatiently. He didn’t speak up to deny Wilson’s request, though, so Rhodey gestured to an unoccupied workbench and activated the holographic screen. He’d read Gareth Olson’s personnel file while Tony had started to watch the CCTV feed and it was still open.

Wilson stared at Olson’s picture for a long moment and Rhodey thought he heard his breath catch. “That guy works here?”

“Yes,” Rhodey answered.

Wilson turned his head to look at him, the eye lenses narrowed dangerously. “You know who that is, right?”

Rhodey shrugged. “Enlighten us.”

“That’s _him_,” Wilson said. “He’s not working for Umbra, that _is_ Umbra.”

Tony froze, his eyes flickered to glance at Rhodey for a second before they turned towards Wilson. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Wilson snapped. “He kept me captive for a few months, I know that smug face. How could you let him _in_ here?”

Tony stood up so suddenly that the chair he’d been sitting on clattered to the floor. “How could _you_ let Peter get involved into this mess further?!”

“Excusez-moi?” Wilson answered, his eyes widening. “Am _I_ the parent in this room?” He paused and then said, “Wait, let me rephrase that: Am I the parent responsible for Spider-Man?”

Rhodey gaped at him. There had been no indication from Wilson’s file that he was a father. The very thought of this merciless killer having a child somewhere was plain ridiculous.

Wilson stepped towards Tony. “Did you know about this? About him going after Umbra?”

“Of course not,” Tony snapped. “I told him to stay out of it.”

A high-pitched, taunting laugh escaped Wilson. “Yeah, teenagers are known to follow the rules. You’re Iron Man. How could you _not_ know?”

Rhodey saw that the words struck Tony where it hurt. And when Tony got hurt, he lashed out. His eyes narrowed and he tensed, his jaw clenching. “Olson wouldn’t have targeted Peter if it weren’t for _you_! If he hadn’t freed _you_, Olson wouldn’t have kidnapped him!”

“I didn’t ask him to free me,” Wilson answered angrily. “He crawled into my cell because he chose to, you dickhead!” He spread his arms wide. “But _please_, have a go at me. You think I like that this happened? I wasn’t supposed to be in that stupid cell, I was supposed to be by his side from the start, but _no_!” He raised his eyes towards the ceiling, as if addressing someone who wasn’t really there. “Creative reasons, my ass! We would have rocked Team Red!”

There was silence, Tony frowning at Wilson in confusion while Wilson turned away, his shoulders coming up as he muttered to himself.

Rhodey took a deep breath. “Okay, we need to calm down,” he said. “This isn’t helping.”

Tony leaned forward slightly and brushed both his hands through his hair in agitation. He shook his head, slumping back against the nearest workbench. “I can’t find him, Rhodey.” His voice sounded small and lost and Rhodey was pretty sure that he had never seen him like this before … this hopeless and desperate.

Stepping towards him, Rhodey clasped a hand around his shoulder, Tony’s head coming forward to lean against Rhodey’s shoulder for just a moment. A moment of weakness quickly hidden away again when Wilson turned back around to them. Rhodey cleared his throat. “You’ve been Olson’s prisoner for months. What can you tell us about him?”

Wilson crossed his arms. “That it’s close to impossible to find him.”

“You managed before.”

He scoffed. “I got lucky. Or that’s what I _thought_. Turns out they were actually waiting for me.”

“What happened?” Rhodey asked.

Wilson pulled one of the chairs closer and sat down, taking a deep breath before he hesitantly explained, “A chick in Seattle contacted me, asked me to get her brother out of Umbra’s claws, and I agreed. She was being blackmailed by Umbra in return for him keeping her brother alive. She even knew the area where I could find him.” He shook his head. “It was too easy.” He pushed off the chair and returned to the screen displaying Olson’s CV, glaring at the picture. “This guy is a grade A creep. He was on my personal kill list for a long time. I thought I could get her brother out _and_ a bullet between his eyes.” He looked at Tony. “I can’t believe he’s working for you.”

Tony huffed a breath. “Well, he worked for Oscorp as well. His CV is water-tight.”

Wilson shrugged. “I believe _that_.”

Rhodey swallowed. “What will he do to Peter?”

Wilson stared at Olson’s picture for a long moment. “He won’t kill him,” he said then. “He’s not the kind to kill for fun or even revenge. It’s much more likely that he’ll sell him to the highest bidder to make up for the losses Peter caused him. He’ll make a lot of money off of him.” He stilled, ducked his head. “He’s Spider-Man _and_ a cute kid. Some of Umbra’s customers … they might not just buy Peter because of his enhancements, if you know what I mean.”

Tony shuddered and turned away, slumping forward to lean on the workbench. Rhodey noticed that he made an effort to breathe deeply and regularly and rubbed his hand between his shoulder blades. “We’re going to find him, Tony. It’s going to be fine.”

Tony looked at him and Rhodey, noticing tears in the corners of his eyes, tried on a comforting smile. He wasn’t sure whether it worked because Wilson’s muttered “What the hell?” interrupted the moment and Tony quickly wiped his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself as Wilson said, “Stark, get over here.”

Tony didn’t move.

Rhodey turned instead, walking to stand behind Deadpool, who was sitting in front of the monitor displaying Olson’s file. He had scrolled down to a section that showed several pictures F.R.I.D.A.Y. had pulled from social media featuring Olson’s name.

“What is this?” Wilson asked, staring at a picture that featured Olson and several other men and women in lab coats, smiling into the camera.

Rhodey frowned, recognizing the symbol behind them as the Oscorp logo. “His old team, I think. Why?”

“_Her_,” Wilson said, pointing at a woman with short blond hair and dark eyes. She seemed familiar somehow, but Rhodey couldn’t quite place her. Wilson zoomed in to see her a little better. “That’s the chick from Seattle, the one who wanted me to get her brother out.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Rhodey’s heart skipped a beat, hope blooming in his chest. “Tony, they _worked_ together.”

Tony came over to them.

“She looks familiar,” Rhodey said, pointing at her as Tony arrived and squinted at the picture. He went rigid. Rhodey frowned at him. “Tony?”

“Oh my God.”

“Do you know her?”

“That’s Samantha Hopson,” he said. “She owns Janus Labs. The lab responsible for the registration of enhanced humans.”

***

The rock hit the inhibitor with a crunching noise and Peter drew his hand closer to his face to check. There wasn’t even a crack noticeable in the material, no visible effect of his efforts. He pressed his lips together and swallowed his disappointment. He braced his forearm against the wall, resting his palm flat against the concrete surface, and shifted his grip on the rock as he pulled his arm back to strike again. His teeth tightened around the sleeve of his denim jacket instinctively. He’d taken it off a while ago when he hadn’t been quite able to keep his pained scream in after he’d missed the inhibitor and hit his arm instead. By now, tear tracks were drying on his cheeks and his arm and wrist was mottled with bruises and cuts caused by missed hits. He was only wearing a t-shirt underneath the jacket, leaving his arm exposed, and had already considered putting the jacket on again to have at least a little bit of protection, but being quiet was more important.

_“Essentially, it’s just a magnet holding it together. A neodymium magnet,”_ Gareth had told him what seemed ages ago now.

He probably hadn’t known back then that Peter would ever have to break out of one of the inhibitors.

He probably hadn’t considered that Peter went to schools with a STEM focus since he’d left middle school.

He probably hadn’t expected Peter to know _exactly_ that there were several ways to demagnetize a magnet. One of them was to hammer it into submission.

He brought the rock down … and missed.

A sharp pain raced up his arm from where he'd hit the back of his hand and he bit down on his jacket, the scream muffled by the fabric. He fell to his knees, cradling his hand against his chest, tears running down his cheeks. Flexing his fingers carefully, hot agony traveled up his arm.

This time he'd definitely broken something.

The stone had also cut the skin and fresh blood was freely running down his hand to drip on the floor. Peter breathed heavily around the pain, huddled against the wall, and tried to get a grip.

He didn’t have _time_.

Raising his hand to put it back against the wall and readying the rock to hit the bracelet again, he tried to swallow his fear and his self-preservation instincts, his fingers tightening around the rock … but there was a sound, the door unlocking and Peter's eyes widened. He dropped the jacket over the bloodstain on the floor and pushed himself back into the corner, hiding his bleeding hand from sight.

The two men from before came in first, making a beeline for him and dragging him to his feet, just to pin him into the corner.

Gareth entered next, holding a tablet computer. “There he is now,” he said and turned the tablet’s camera towards Peter.

There was a man on the screen – blond hair and a skeptical look on his too-handsome face –, and a smaller screen in the lower right corner showed Peter his own pale, scared face, on display for this stranger. Gareth held the tablet in one hand, his other reaching out to grip Peter's hair, as if he wanted to make sure that he wouldn’t duck his head away, but Peter knew that there was more to it and the sudden panic at losing control over his own actions again caused him to try and lean away.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed.

“Don’t move,” Gareth answered. “Look at the camera.”

Peter felt himself comply, meeting the stranger’s blue eyes. They were cold, calculating, looking at Peter as if he was something below human.

“He's sixteen,” Gareth said. “A bit on the young side, but it has its advantages. You'll get to housetrain him.”

He sounded like the car vendor who had tried to sell Ben a piece of scraps a couple of years ago – friendly and smiling just a bit too widely.

_“Am I supposed to just_ believe _that Spider-Man is this_ child_?”_ the man on the screen asked.

“You saw the demo,” Gareth answered, his smile saccharine sweet. “Have I ever lied to you?”

The man’s expression softened just a tiny bit and he looked at Peter, his eyes raking over Peter’s face, towards Gareth’s fingers curled into Peter’s hair and he smiled. Peter felt the sudden urge to do something, but he couldn’t move, and he doubted that putting up a fight would help right now. Something else certainly would … and he still had his voice. “I'm also _Iron Man's kid_. He will ...”

Gareth reacted quickly, pushing Peter’s head back against the concrete roughly, as he hissed, “Be quiet!”

The damage, however, was already done. The man on the screen frowned and his gaze was distracted, his fingers clacking on a keyboard. After a moment, he looked at Peter again. _“There are pictures of him with Tony Stark.”_ He frowned, contemplating, then he sighed deeply. _“I'll give you seven.” _

Peter’s heart sank.

“Bidding starts at _ten_ million,” Gareth answered. “He's quite the unique find, after all.”

Peter’s eyes widened at the sum and he stared at Gareth in disbelief, trying to shift out of the tight hold on his arms and unable to.

The man on the screen scoffed. _“Being Iron Man's kid? Yes. That’s the issue. I believe that I deserve a price reduction for taking him off your hands and risking my safety to have him. Iron Man will not take kindly to me keeping his child captive.” _

“I have another interested customer,” Gareth said coldly. “Think quickly.”

The man ended the call.

Gareth's fingers wrapped around Peter's throat as soon as the screen went blank. “You need to learn to behave.”

Peter stared at him, swallowing past the fear in his throat and hoping it didn’t show in his eyes.

Gareth smiled. “You may speak.”

Peter pressed his lips shut, refusing to answer now that he was allowed to.

Gareth’s face twisted. “You know where you get this kind of behavior from? Your dad.” He stepped closer, his grip around Peter’s throat tightening. “You know what else he wasn’t good at? Accepting enhanced people. He hated them. He hated _me_ because of what I could do. He would hate _you_.”

Peter answered before he could stop himself, the piercing hurt the words caused too much to keep silent. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” He let go of Peter, stepping back. “You’re lucky I don’t sell damaged goods.” With that, he turned to leave.

“Tony will find you,” Peter called after him, straining against the hold of the two men.

“Not if I kill him first. All it takes is one touch,” Gareth answered. He stopped at the door. “Poor guy, just couldn’t handle the loss of his adopted son. Suicide sounds like the only way out for him, don’t you think?” He smiled. “Consider it poetic justice. I didn’t get to kill your father … this time, I won’t miss out.”

With that he left, taking his men with him.

Peter grabbed his jacket and bit down on it, braced his arm against the wall, retrieved the rock and raised it high over his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

Then he struck.


	16. Chapter 16

“What do you mean, you cannot find her?” Tony snapped.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s answer was, as always, patient and calm. _“Her phone is switched off. I can’t ping it.” _

Tony brushed his hands through his hair in agitation. “Do _something_!”

There was a short pause during which Wilson shifted, pausing in his rapid tapping of the keyboard he’d commandeered a couple of minutes ago, and Rhodey crossed his arms. 

Then F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, _“I’m not sure what you’re asking of me, boss. You went to her apartment and she wasn’t there. Janus Labs is closed and there were no heat signatures there when Colonel Rhodes went to check. Her phone is switched off. I am simply unable to find Samantha Hopson.” _

Tony slumped where he was, huddling on the floor, his breathing heavy and his eyes squeezed shut. By now, Rhodey felt the same fear he could see on Tony’s face claw its way into his own chest, his stomach churning, his shoulders tense. He was staring at a screen playing the same scene over and over again: a CCTV-feed of Hopson getting into a car outside her apartment building and vanishing into thin air. Just like Peter had. Rhodey wiped a tired hand down his face. “She worked with them,” he said and looked at Wilson. “Her sick brother was probably just an invention to lure you into a trap.”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know about that. I remember Norman mentioning him once. Apparently, he was the reason she left Oscorp and opened her own lab. I think he exists. Doesn’t he, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

_“Jason Hopson, brother to Samantha Hopson, is deceased, boss. He died last year.” _

Tony lifted his gaze to the ceiling, glaring at her. “How did nobody _know_ that?”

Rhodey answered instead of her, “Nobody _thought_ to check. Why would they? It’s a good, heart-warming story.”

Tony huffed a breath. “How did he die?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered, _“Unclear. His body was heavily disfigured when it was found.” _

“Where?” 

_“Austin. It was found in connection to a DODC operation. Boss, the file also contains a reference to Deadpool.” _

Wilson turned away from his keyboard and crossed his arms. “I took out a Weapon X lab in Austin last November, while I was following up on your little security problem here. I remember that there was a room with dead bodies. I thought they were failed experiments.”

Rhodey frowned at him. “What security problem are you talking about?”

“The attack on the Tower,” Wilson answered. 

Tony stared at him, still sitting on the floor with his knees bent and his hands entwined. “What?” 

“The attack? You know the one. When bambi got shot and social media freaked out about that pic of you two in the emergency room.”

Rhodey shuddered. He hadn’t been there when it had happened, but he’d seen the picture Wilson was referring to: Tony in his Iron Man suit, standing in the middle of an emergency room with Peter hanging limply in his arms, all the blood ... 

“Yeah, I remember,” Tony said, getting to his feet. “You _knew_ who was responsible?”

“I got it out of the guy I caught leaving the Tower.”

Tony shook his head in disbelief. “The one you shot.”

The eye lenses of Deadpool’s mask narrowed angrily. “I didn’t want him to run back to his bosses and blab about Peter, did I?”

Tony’s face darkened. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going after them? That you knew who sent them?”

“Nothing against you, Irondad, but we’re not exactly friends. And I work alone.”

Rhodey stepped between them, glaring at Tony warningly. “It doesn’t matter now.” He took Tony’s arm, stepping a little closer to murmur, “Get a grip. You need to keep a cool head if you want to help Peter.” 

Tony glared at him.

“I _know_,” Rhodey said. “I know, okay? He’s _my_ kid, too.”

Tony ducked his head, his shoulders slumping.

“You need to keep it together, okay? He needs you to.” 

Tony took a deep breath and then straightened abruptly, squaring his shoulders. “Right.”

Wilson made a noise of triumph. “Finally! I’m in.” 

Tony frowned. “In what?” He glanced at the screen and Rhodey saw his eyes widen in alarm before he snapped, “What the … are you accessing the _dark web_ from my computer?!”

Rhodey stepped closer to the screen, peering at a website that looked right out of the nineties in its simplicity. The background was white and there was only one line of text underlaid with a link: _Marketplace_.

“Calm down,” Wilson answered. “It’s not like I’m looking at porn.”

“It’s worse!”

“Not if I show you _this_,” Wilson answered and clicked on the link.

The next page was just as simple, several pictures filling the white space. All of them were of people, most of them only in grayscale with red, bold letters underneath stating _Sold_. Rhodey had a very bad feeling about this. Especially, when he recognized the person in the only colored picture: it seemed to be a screencap from a video, slightly grainy and a little too dark, but it was clearly Peter’s face, looking at the camera with wide, disoriented eyes. In bold, black letters, the word _Bid_ was written underneath the picture. “Shit.” 

Tony gasped, immediately stepping as close as possible. 

Wilson clicked on Peter’s picture. A video player opened. Peter was laying on the floor of a bare, dirty room, not moving, his eyes closed. Until a man appeared at the side of the image and touched him with a taser, a spark of electricity was followed by a sharp, cut-off scream and then Peter was huddled in a corner of the room, clinging to the ceiling. 

“What the hell is that?” Tony asked when the image cut, showing Peter jump on the guy and knock him to the floor before heading off-screen. 

The picture cut to black.

Wilson cleared his throat. “It’s an offer.” When he clicked on _Bid_, he landed on yet another page with a white background, a pitch-black _$10 million_ was displayed in the middle of the page, the words _$7 million_ just underneath, next to a timer counting down from twenty-three minutes. “So, the ten million is what they ask for. The seven is the highest bidding right now.” Wilson pointed his mouse at the edge of the page where a text box was waiting for input and then looked up at Tony. “You wanna bid?”

“On my _son_?” Tony snapped.

Rhodey crossed his arms, frowning. “How do you have that kind of access?”

Wilson shrugged. “I’m a registered customer. Just another way to track them down, I thought.”

“What _is_ this?” Tony asked, taking a step back, disgust twisting his pale face.

“It’s an auction, Stark. I thought someone like you should know.”

Tony swallowed, staring at the short description at the top of the page. Rhodey followed his gaze and swallowed bile as he read _‘16 yo, American native, enhanced senses, enhanced strength, healing factor, aka Spider-Man, brown eyes, brown hair, 5’6, restricted bidding’_. He pointed at the last two words. “What does that mean?”

“Only the best customers get to bid on him. I made the cut because they think I’m a Japanese businessman with millions at my disposal.” He looked at Tony. “So, in or out?”

Rhodey was frowning heavily. “Why is someone bidding under the asking price?”

“Maybe they think that there is something lessening his value.”

Tony slammed his hand on the workbench. “Would you stop talking like that?”

“Hey,” Wilson answered, an annoyed edge in his voice. “I’m trying to help.”

“And that’s my _kid_ they are torturing,” Tony answered.

“And I am trying to make you see that bidding on him will get you to him. Just in case we don’t find another way.”

Tony crossed his arms.

“Now, this auction ends in twenty minutes. We can’t bid too high,” Wilson said, “or it’s going to be suspicious.” 

“And if we bid too low?” Tony asked. “If someone else is faster in the end?”

Wilson didn’t answer.

Tony shook his head. “Unacceptable. F.R.I.D.A.Y., find out where they are.”

_“That will take a while, boss.” _

Wilson scoffed. “It’s the dark web. It’ll take too long.”

Rhodey stepped forward, taking the action he knew Tony didn’t want to take. Currently, it was their only choice, though. “Bid eight million.” 

Tony turned to look at him in disbelief.

“I _know_,” Rhodey said. “But we have to try. Just in case.”

***

When the inhibitor loosened, Peter didn’t really notice at first. He had his hand raised and the rock ready to strike when he became aware that something had happened. He dropped the rock and pulled the inhibitor off, hissing softly at the pain the motion caused, and cradled his injured hand to his chest. His eyesight sharpened almost immediately, and he was now able to see the cuts the rock had made across the back of his hand, his wrist and arm whenever he’d missed the target a lot clearer. The wounds were oozing blood, but they weren’t actually bad. He flexed his fingers and winced when it still hurt a lot to move them. Even with his healing factor, the broken bones in the back of his hand would not heal within a few minutes. He had very limited experience with how long it would probably take but he guessed a week at least. He’d have to get out with his hand broken, making his non-dominant left hand the one he’d have to use. 

His hearing picked up on approaching steps – one person – and he shot to his feet, jumping and stretching his good hand to cling to the ceiling, lifting his body off the floor and bracing his toes against the ceiling as well. It felt good to have his powers back, like he was finally in control of his own body again. It was hard to fathom that he’d ever lived without them.

The door opened and one of Gareth’s men entered. It was the guy who’d held the camera. Peter held his breath. The man stepped in, preoccupied with carrying a bottle of water and a paper plate with sandwiches in one hand while he had a tight grip on a gun with the other, but when he looked up to find Peter, he froze. “What the …” He came in even further and Peter dropped, slamming his elbow into the man’s temple and landing in a crouch as he dropped, unconscious. 

Peter looked towards the door and listened, but nobody seemed to have been alarmed. 

He quickly searched the man’s jacket and found his phone. Peter needed a moment to remember Tony’s number but when he did, he entered it quickly and raised the phone to his ear. 

He knew that F.R.I.D.A.Y. was vetting Tony’s calls and that him calling from an unknown number would only result in him being transferred to voicemail. He waited for the beep and quickly said, “F.R.I.D.A.Y., it’s me.” 

There was a long moment of silence during which he heard somebody from down the corridor call, “Andy?” 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., I don’t have time, please-”

_“Voice recognition positive. Please hold.” _

It felt as if a crushing weight had been lifted off Peter’s shoulders. Hurried steps came closer and Peter put the phone on the floor and slid it towards a corner just when the guy who liked to use the taser came in; Neil. However, when he saw Peter and Andy, he didn’t even hesitate to point a gun at Peter instead of the taser, his brows pulled together angrily. “Get down, now.”

Peter fell into a fighting stance instead. 

“I’m not kidding around,” Neil said, stepping closer. “On your knees!”

Peter pretended to listen, falling into a crouch before he kicked up with one foot, against the hand holding the gun. A shot went off, the bullet going right past Peter, as he already took out Neil’s kneecap with his foot. Neil screamed and fell to the ground and Peter yanked the gun out of his hand, using the butt to knock him out. 

“You got out of the inhibitor. Impressive.” 

He whirled around towards the door and grimaced when he saw Gareth there, his arms crossed, a sinister smile on his face. Peter raised the gun to point it at him. “Don’t come any closer. Go over there,” Peter said, motioning towards the corner farthest from the door. 

Gareth shook his head, leaning against the doorjamb. “This is quite the conundrum, isn’t it? You don’t have your webs so you can’t fight me from a distance. You can’t touch me, so you can’t fight me with your hands.”

Peter’s heart skipped a beat when he remembered that he did, in fact, have webs. He still had his watch. Unfortunately, he was currently holding the gun with the very hand he was carrying the watch on. He clenched his jaw, his fingers flexing around the handle of the gun, and decided to stall for time. “I have a gun.”

Gareth shook his head. “You’re not going to use it.” 

Peter swallowed, his grip tightening.

“Your hand is shaking,” Gareth said. 

Peter glanced towards the phone. If he got lucky, he didn’t need to fight Gareth at all. Tony would be able to hear what was going on, would trace the call. It would take a moment, but Peter could bridge that time. He had to. 

Gareth smiled. “If you haven’t fired yet, you are definitely not going to do it.” He moved, his hand coming forward and Peter’s danger-sense reacted just before the sound of a gun going off multiple times echoed through the room. Listening to his body’s instinctive reaction, he ducked towards the side, then crouched even lower, dropping his gun to jump and cling to the ceiling, avoiding one bullet after another. He flipped back to the floor and backed away from Gareth who jammed a new clip into the weapon. 

Peter used the chance to tap the watch three times with his injured hand, the web-shooter’s trigger mechanism nestling into his palm, ready to use. He cautioned himself not to rely too much on it, though. The watch’s cartridge was a lot smaller than the ones in his shooters. 

He fired a web to rip the gun out of Gareth’s hand, webbing it to the wall, and then turned to yank a rusty pipe out of the ceiling with his good hand, moving it to his injured one, though, to have the web-shooter available. His broken bones screamed in pain when he curled his fingers around the pipe, but Peter grit his teeth against it, glancing at the phone. 

He just needed to stall for a little longer. 

Gareth didn’t stop, approaching Peter with his face pulled into an angry grimace. Peter used the pipe to keep Gareth at a distance as he attacked and stumbled backwards whenever Gareth tried to make a grab for him. Peter hadn’t expected Gareth to be that good of a fighter, but in hindsight, he should have. He had worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. after all. He had probably received the necessary training. All the training Peter had received on the other hand was some late-night hand-to-hand combat from Daredevil and a few lessons from Rhodey. What he was _really_ good at was combining those lessons with his webs. But _this_ – wielding a pipe like a sword – was entirely foreign to him. He was sure that if it weren’t for his enhanced speed and flexibility, Gareth would have already won. 

He tried to reangle himself, tried to get his back towards the door instead of being forced further away from it and into a corner, and he managed to do so by jumping to the side when Gareth lunged for him, then forward, using the pipe to bat Gareth’s hand away when he tried to make a grab for him again. Gareth screamed angrily and doubled his efforts, his fingers almost closing around Peter’s arm in the process. Peter ducked and swiped Gareth’s feet from under him before he kicked him backwards to stumble against the wall. He shot a web to pin Gareth’s hand there … and paused. Gareth got to his feet and immediately tried to free his hand, trying to reach Peter, but he couldn’t. 

Peter was just out of reach.

Before Peter could revel in the fact that he’d won, though, his danger-sense sparked, sending him to duck away from a bullet. Peter was only able to make out a new person at the door holding a gun before the pipe in his hand was grabbed and he was yanked backwards. His broken hand screamed in pain and he let go of the pipe. Knowing that his stumble was bringing him within Gareth’s reach, Peter tried to duck and side-step while shooting a web at his new adversary and missing as they sought cover behind the open door. Two more shots were fired which Peter was able to avoid, but then his danger-sense screeched in warning, causing him to raise his hand instinctively, blocking a swipe of the pipe aimed for his head … with his injured hand. He screamed out as the pipe hit, his broken bones shifting, agony racing up his arm and dulling his senses. There was the sound of another gunshot and this time, the bullet hit, tearing through his flesh just below his ribcage. He felt as if his breath was knocked out of him, and the impact sent him backwards. 

An arm came around his neck from behind and pulled him back against Gareth’s chest, Gareth’s fingers closing around his jaw. “Take off the watch.” 

Peter’s injured hand protested when his fingers loosened the watch’s clasp, a choked whimper escaping him as it fell to the ground.

“Don’t move.”

Pain was travelling up his flank, burning hot. His hand was throbbing agonizingly. He felt blood seep into the shirt he was wearing. Peter blinked away tears and put all his effort into remaining upright. He refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him collapse. The new arrival entered the room fully now and Peter recognized her immediately: Samantha Hopson.

“Thanks for the assist,” Gareth said. “Next time, maybe try not to shoot the asset.”

She stepped closer and yanked Peter’s shirt up, looking at the wound. “It’s just a flesh wound.” She straightened, giving Gareth a lethal look. “Maybe next time try not to lose control over your pets.” 

Gareth’s grip around Peter’s jaw tightened fractionally as Hopson turned away. She knelt next to the two guys and checked their pulses. “He got them good.” She looked around and then crouched down near the inhibitor, inspecting it in the weak light the single bulb emitted. “He actually got out of it.”

Gareth leaned down, his lips brushing Peter’s temple. “Clever boy.”

Peter grimaced. “Don’t touch me.”

Gareth’s thumb stroked the line of his jaw. “I gotta say, I think I might have been wrong about you. It’s almost a shame to sell you.”

“What I’ve been saying from the start,” Hopson answered. She was taking a closer look at the webbing pinning Gareth’s hand against the wall. She seemed impressed when her eyes settled on Peter next. “Scientifically, he’s worth far more than as a collector’s item.”

“If you wanna cut him open,” Gareth answered grimly, “you can bid on him in Weapon X’s name.”

Hopson smirked. 

“Get me out of this,” Gareth said. 

Hopson frowned at the webbing. “Not sure I _can_.”

In that moment, a tinny rendition of ‘Eye Of The Tiger’ started to echo through the room. Peter’s eyes slid towards the phone automatically, his heart skipping a beat in relief. There was no way of knowing that it was Tony and Peter would never have been able to describe how he knew … but he did.

“What is that?” Gareth asked. 

Hopson frowned, her eyes wandering the room until they came to rest on the phone. She went to pick it up, holding it up for Gareth to see. “Unknown number.”

“I think,” Peter answered, “that’s for me.” 

He heard the whine of two sets of repulsors and squeezed his eyes shut just before something crashed into the corridor outside the room. Dust billowed into the cell and out of it stepped Iron Man, closely followed by War Machine, the eyes of their masks lit up brightly. Before Hopson could react in any way, she was hit by a repulsor blast and fell back against the wall, unconscious upon impact. 

Iron Man’s repulsors pointed straight at Gareth next. Peter felt Gareth’s grip around him tighten. Iron Man’s head tilted just slightly to the right and Peter, knowing what he was trying to convey, nodded quickly. “Do it.”

“Sorry, kid,” Iron Man said and the repulsor fired. 

It was on its lowest setting, but Peter was still slammed back into Gareth’s chest, both of them groaning with the impact. Gareth’s grip on him vanished and Peter tried to stumble away from him, just to feel Gareth’s fingers closing around his wrist. There was a second repulsor blast, this one clearly stronger and Gareth screamed out as Peter heard the crunching sound of concrete being cracked. 

A strong, metal hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him away none too gently, more concerned about putting distance between Peter and Gareth than trying not to injure him further. 

Iron Man loomed over him, the face carved into the metal of his helmet not giving away any information about his state of mind. Tony’s voice coming through the speakers was shaky enough on its own, though. “You okay?” 

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” He gave Tony a brief smile to reassure him. He turned back towards Gareth and saw him glaring at them, the wall around him showing cracks and gaps. 

Tony had fired at him again and this time, it must have hurt a lot more because Gareth’s face was pale and strained, his breathing ragged. When he spoke, blood was staining his teeth, his pain-filled eyes on Peter. “I should’ve killed you and be done with it.”

“No,” Tony answered grimly, “you should’ve never touched him in the first place.”

Peter _felt_ Deadpool step into the room before he saw him, his danger-sense picking up on the man’s presence as it usually did. “You left me in the fucking _parking lot_? Low blow.” He was wearing his suit this time, a gun in his hand and the handles of his two katanas peeking over his shoulders.

Rhodey scoffed. “We wanted to control the situation first. You wouldn’t have helped with that.”

Deadpool snorted and cocked his gun demonstratively. “I see you didn’t finish the job.”

Before Tony or Rhodey could react, he was stepping past them and towards Gareth, his gun raised and pointed straight at his head. Peter, though, was quick enough and pushed himself between the two. 

Deadpool paused, his gun now level with Peter’s chest, and looked down at him. “You gotta stop doing that, baby boy.”

Rhodey snapped, “Wilson, stand down!”

Peter saw Tony step closer over Deadpool’s shoulder, ready to yank him away, and shook his head with a pleading look. He knew that Deadpool wasn’t going to hurt him. Tony faltered and settled on readying his repulsors, not raising them towards Deadpool, though. 

Deadpool was looking down at Peter, the white lenses of his mask narrowed – whether in confusion or anger, Peter couldn’t tell. But Deadpool’s voice sounded almost gentle when he said, “This is what I’m here for, baby boy. The clean solution.”

Peter shook his head. “Listen, he’s gonna be arrested.”

“Until he escapes? I don’t think so.”

“Please, _don’t_.”

Deadpool stared at him. “Turn away, baby boy. Don’t watch.”

“No. Deadpool-”

“Turn away.”

“No! No killing.”

Deadpool sighed in exasperation. “Stark,” he said, “control your child.”

Tony just shook his head. “Believe me, I’ve tried and failed, but he’s got a point right now. Put your gun down.”

Deadpool turned his head to level a glare at him. “After everything he did, you would just let him live a peaceful life in some prison?” 

“This isn’t about him,” Peter said. “It’s about you. You don’t need to kill.”

Deadpool stared at him. “You’re adorable,” he said. “But I think that this _one_ tally in my bedpost won’t make a difference, do you?”

“If it doesn’t make a difference, then just don’t add it,” Peter answered. “You’re a better person than that.”

Deadpool stared at him for along moment, then he tilted his head upwards. “Are you serious?” he asked. “First, I’m not getting the intro I wanted, now I’m not getting the exit I deserve?” He sighed heavily and looked down at Peter. “I was more badass in the outline.” He lowered his gun, tucking it back into the holster. 

Gareth gave a gurgling laugh and rasped, “I see the animal found a new owner.”

Deadpool’s fingers tightened around the handle of the gun and his free hand curled into a fist. He looked at Gareth, his head tilted. Somehow, Peter had the feeling that he was smiling. It was confirmed when Deadpool chuckled softly. “Deal,” he said to no one in particular. 

Then he turned on his heel and left.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the last chapter. :)  
Thank you guys so much for reading and sticking with me for so long!  
I appreciate every single kudo and every single comment I have received for this. See you around. :)

Peter woke late in the morning to the smell of bacon and eggs wafting down the hallway and into his room, to the sun falling through the cracks in the blinds and his cellphone vibrating against the wood of his nightstand. 

He wiped the sleep from his eyes and shifted to his side, wincing when the gunshot wound and his bruised ribs complained about the movement. He reached for the cellphone with his left hand, his right held immobile by a cast, and blinked at the screen. 

The text message was from Deadpool. 

_I’m sorry, bambi. _

He frowned in confusion. “What?” 

Peter didn’t answer, deciding that it could wait until he’d got his bearings. He felt tired, only having fallen asleep after three in the morning. It had taken a while to get his wounds tended to and then to feel calm enough to go to sleep. Tony had called his physician Jillian MacKenzie and they’d met up at her practice to get Peter looked after. Jillian knew about Peter’s enhancements and Tony trusted her more than a DODC doctor, though seeing one of them hadn’t even been an option, really. Tony wanted to keep Peter out of the picture, leaving the scene with him before any DODC agents had arrived. Rhodey had handled the fall-out. Peter had no idea whether the DODC didn’t know that he was involved by now anyway. After all, all four people who had been arrested last night had seen his face and were aware of his identity. 

The thought settled heavy into his stomach. Tony had always tried to keep Peter and especially Spider-Man away from the Sokovia Accords and the Registration Act, because even he wasn’t quite sure what it would mean if they would find out about Peter. He was a minor, had fought alongside the Avengers and was a vigilante. Peter knew that Tony was afraid that he would be taken away from him and he had the same fear.

He slid out of bed and pulled open the blinds, looking down at the city. The weather looked like it was a perfect summer day and Peter opened the window, letting fresh air into the room. He didn’t bother changing out of his pajama pants and the Princess Leia t-shirt, instead heading down the hallway towards the kitchen. From afar, he could already hear Tony, Rhodey and Pepper talking.

“… kidding me?” Tony asked. “Does the DODC have some of the best agents on the planet or not?”

“We both know Deadpool’s track record, Tony. We can be grateful that he didn’t kill _everyone_ in that vehicle.” 

Peter paused, leaning against the wall, just out of sight.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” Rhodey said. “They _did_ know Peter’s identity.”

Pepper said, “That doesn’t make it right.”

Peter swallowed, getting a feeling he knew what Deadpool was apologizing for in his text message. 

He stepped around the corner. Both Rhodey and Tony were wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, looking as if they’d woken up not too long ago themselves. Rhodey had settled into a chair at the dining table, which was set up for four, while Tony was manning the coffee machine. Pepper, dressed rather casually in jeans and a loose-fitting top, was setting serving plates with bacon and eggs onto the table. The scene was unexpectedly domestic and brought a smile to Peter’s face as he cleared his throat to catch their attention. 

All three of them looked at him. 

“Hey,” Tony said, smiling. “How are you doing?”

“Okay,” Peter answered, approaching the table.

Before he had the chance to sit down, he was swept into a hug by Pepper. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered and kissed his temple before she pushed him back a bit gently, looking him up and down in concern. 

“I’m fine.”

Pepper’s hand cupped his cheek. “If I’d known who he really was-”

“I know,” Peter interrupted her, smiling. “It’s okay.”

She pulled him back into a hug, only letting go when Tony said, “Let him breathe, Pep.”

They all settled down for breakfast. 

Peter packed his plate with bacon, eggs and bread. He felt starved, a normal reaction to his healing factor working overtime. He didn’t speak until he’d eaten half of his portion, listening to the others making idle conversation and very intentionally skirting around the topic they’d discussed when Peter had entered. He waited for a lull in their conversation before he asked Rhodey, “So, what happened after we left?” 

Rhodey sipped on his coffee. “They got the database of customers off Olson’s computer. So the DODC is now following up with several national and international agencies, getting warrants, kicking in doors, that kind of stuff.”

“They’re also searching Janus Labs,” Tony added through a mouthful of food, which earned him a reprimanding look from Pepper. “With Hopson being involved, it was easy to get a warrant.”

Peter nodded. “I still don’t quite get how she was connected,” he said. “I mean, I know she gave Dr. Olson names from the registry but … how did they even know each other?”

“They met at Oscorp,” Tony said. “Worked together on several genetics projects. Got pretty close, apparently. We don’t know _exactly_ what happened but judging by the fact that Olson was already Umbra at that time with connections to Weapon X, we are assuming that he recruited her.”

“Recruited her?”

Rhodey nodded. “She had a brother, a very sick young man. We think that Weapon X offered to heal him, similar to what they did to Deadpool. During the process, Hopson apparently landed on their payroll and partook in some other experiments while they were working on her brother. The DODC managed to identify her as Dr. H, someone who was mentioned in connection to several Weapon X missions. Her brother’s transformation didn’t work out as they’d hoped, though. So Weapon X used him as a guinea pig to check what had gone wrong.”

Peter swallowed, feeling sad for him. “And Hopson … she just … let it happen?”

Tony and Rhodey exchanged a glance and Tony cleared his throat. “She was appointed the leading scientist of the project. We assume that she _did_ want her brother to be healed, but she cut her losses when it didn’t work out, stayed loyal to them. Science over empathy.”

Pepper shook her head. “That’s awful.”

Tony nodded. “We can only assume that they wanted to experiment on more enhanced people to understand their physiology better.”

Peter chewed thoughtfully. “That’s where the Registration Act comes in?”

Rhodey shook his head. “Not yet. The DODC fond an outdated extract from a S.H.I.E.L.D. database on their computers. We assume that Olson stole it when he left the organization and that they used that initially to track down enhanced people, but it wasn’t enough, apparently, because they tried to get their hands on a computer code which would allow them to identify enhanced humans all over the world with just the push of a button.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Is that possible?”

Tony paused, thinking his next words through. “It was called Project Insight. A S.H.I.E.L.D. project. And yes, it worked. That was the issue. Turns out that Insight was pushed by the HYDRA agents who had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. They were trying to use the code to kill every single enhanced human being on the planet. Steve got to them before they could, though, and the code was handed to me for safekeeping afterwards.” He shrugged. “My best guess is that Weapon X found out about that, probably during some teambuilding event with HYDRA operatives, and tried to get to it.”

Peter swallowed. “The attack on the penthouse.”

Tony nodded. “Which failed. But they got lucky afterwards, because the Registration Act was passed and the new mayor of New York decided to implement it. Hopson quit Oscorp and set up her own lab to apply for the contract.” 

Pepper frowned. “I thought Oscorp applied as well.”

Tony looked at her. “Yes, but if she’d remained with Oscorp, she wouldn’t have had the same control over the process and files as she did with her own lab.”

“So,” Peter said, “there’s enough proof to put them all away?”

Rhodey and Tony froze, looking at each other. Pepper’s brow creased, her pretty face twisting into a sad expression.

Peter grimaced, thinking he already knew what had happened. “It was Deadpool, right?” 

Tony sighed. “Samantha Hopson, Gareth Olson and their two accomplices Neal McEvoy and Andy Cannell were transported to the Raft following their arrest last night. The transport was attacked and all four of them were killed.”

Rhodey nodded. “Deadpool finished his job.” He shrugged. “So all the DODC knows is that Spider-Man was captured by Umbra, that Umbra wanted to sell him and that me and Tony went in to get him out when Deadpool showed up, unexpectedly, and vanished without a trace. F.R.I.D.A.Y. managed to wipe your name from the data we found at the scene and she deleted the dark web marketplace. The DODC shouldn’t be able to trace anything back to you, but we’ll keep an eye out for a little while, just to make sure.”

Peter said, “What about the expo speech? I mean,” he raised his injured hand, “the cast will be noticed.”

“Let them try and prove that it’s connected,” Tony answered. “I’ve got enough lawyers to make them regret even asking.” 

***

Peter found her hidden away in one of the boxes he’d brought from his and May’s apartment. It had been a while since he’d looked at her, but as soon as he held her in his hands, it was as if no time had passed at all. The triceratops plushy had been a well-loved toy in Peter’s childhood. The grey accents in her otherwise beige fur were already fading and one of her eyes had a scratch down the middle, but holding her in his hands still brought a smile to Peter’s face.

“Hey, Trixie.” 

Her amber eyes looked back at him impassively, her snout still stained slightly brown from when Peter had tried to feed her chocolate milk. He’d been hysterical when his mother had put Trixie in the wash, sitting in front of the washing machine and then the dryer, watching her tumbling around until she was back in his arms. 

It was funny what kind of memories would just _stick_. 

Peter sat on the edge of his bed and looked at her, his thumb brushing over the little horn on her snout, when Tony knocked on his door. “What you got there?” he asked, stepping inside and tucking his hands into his jeans pockets. 

Peter smiled sadly. “Trixie.” 

Tony sat next to him, looking at the toy curiously.

“I used to take her everywhere when I was little. After my parents died, she was the only one I would talk to for weeks. She was my only friend.”

“Your only friend?” Tony asked. 

Peter shrugged. “My parents didn’t live in the same area as Ben and May, so I had to change schools and … it was hard for me to find any friends there because I wouldn’t speak at first and because I was sad all the time. And once I did start to talk, it was still hard because everyone already had their clique and I joined in the middle of the year and …” He shrugged. “You know.” 

Tony hummed. “When did you meet Ned?”

Peter smiled. “We met in middle school, first year, instant best friends.”

Tony chuckled.

“Dr. Olson gave this to me,” Peter said, looking down at Trixie. “It was a birthday present.” He swallowed. “He said … he said that he hated my dad. And I think … I think he was in love with my mom.” He pulled Trixie closer, wrapping one arm around her. She used to be big enough to cover his entire chest. He remembered cuddling up to her at night, hugging her close as he slept. Now, sitting on his lap, she barely covered half of it. “He said my dad hated enhanced humans.” 

Tony’s hand settled on the back of Peter’s neck, a comforting, warm weight. “I don’t think he did.”

“But you didn’t know him,” Peter answered, blinking tears away.

“I found someone who did,” Tony said. “Someone who knows what went down during Mission Lux in Algeria.” 

Peter’s heart skipped a beat and he looked up at him. “Really?” 

“Yeah, he knew both your parents really well, actually. Worked with them a lot when they were still active field agents.” Tony smiled at him. “Nick Fury never sugarcoats anything so I can be sure that it’s true.” He cleared his throat. “They volunteered for a mission to get a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent out of HYDRA captivity, a former teammate of theirs. Everything went according to plan, or that’s what they thought. Seems like there was a leak and the plane they used was sabotaged, crashing ten minutes after it was airborne. Since we know by now that S.H.I.E.L.D. was infiltrated by HYDRA, we can assume that it was them who ordered the hit from inside the organization.” 

Peter ducked his head, holding Trixie a little closer. 

Tony pulled him against his side. “He also said that your parents were two of the best agents he ever worked with and they were very outspoken about their support for enhanced people. In fact, the agent they were saving during that mission _was_ enhanced and they were the first to volunteer for it.” Tony squeezed Peter’s neck gently. “Fury thinks they were good people. That means more than what some jerk tells you just to hurt you.”

Peter smiled at him sadly, but he nodded.

“You parents were heroes,” Tony said. “And they’d be very proud of you.” He leaned closer, whispering, “I know I am.” 

***

The last couple of days before the summer holidays went by quietly, though they were quite busy. 

Peter met up with Ned to tell him what exactly had happened between him and Umbra, glossing over the scarier details of the story. The Mini-Stark Expo finalized setting up in Flushing Meadows Park and Peter spent an afternoon walking around the area with Tony to look at it and to do a couple of interviews about the event. 

Before Peter knew it, the last school day had come, and he waved good-bye at Cammy and Ryan when he left school and met Tony in the parking lot to drive to Queens for the expo’s official opening in the evening. Danielle met them to practice the speech on the actual stage and she showed herself unusually happy with Peter afterwards. He pretended to be happy as well, though he was pretty sure that Tony could tell he was anything but. The speech still didn’t sit right with him, but he also knew that there was no time anymore to change it, so he resigned himself to accepting it as it was.

With three hours left to pass until he would have to go on-stage, Peter met up with Ned, Liz, MJ, Abraham and Cindy at the nearby mall. They settled at a table in the very corner of the foodcourt with a couple of snacks. They were all relieved that the summer holidays had finally started, but the mood was quickly dampened by Liz announcing that she would leave the city in the next couple of days. The silence blooming around their little table was deafening, all the more because of the way the foodcourt was bustling with activity all around them. 

“Oregon?” Cindy asked. 

Liz nodded and then shrugged, tears hovering in the corners of her eyes. “My aunt lives there. She says it’s nice.” 

The group at a nearby table laughed loudly and Peter, who was sitting with his back to the open space to avoid being recognized, glanced at them in annoyance. Abraham fiddled with the straw of his coke and Ned was looking at Peter, biting his lip. Peter avoided his eyes. The unexpected news had struck deep. He’d thought that he would get the chance to ask Liz out during the holidays … now, he wasn’t even sure when was the next time he’d be able to see her.

MJ heaved a sigh. “Well … that sucks.”

Liz wiped her eyes. “My dad doesn’t want us here for the trial and everything. He’s afraid that our names will get out and press is gonna corner us.” 

Which was a definite possibility. Peter knew how vicious the media could get, so he could understand the decision to leave the city rather than to deal with it. He lowered his eyes to his plate. “So, you won’t spend the summer here.” If Connecticut had seemed like a far distance, the gap between New York and Oregon was even worse. “Are you still …?” He paused, unsure whether Liz had told the others about UConn yet.

She seemed to understand what he wanted to ask and shook her head. “I’m not sure whether I’ll go to UConn,” Liz answered. She shrugged. “I mean, I got an acceptance letter from OHSU, but I didn’t think I would need it because UConn is closer to home.” She swallowed. “Now …”

Peter tried to give her a smile, but he wasn’t sure whether he was entirely successful. It felt sad.

“I’m sorry,” she said and even though she looked at everyone while she said it, her eyes lingered on Peter the longest.

***

Tony handed Peter the suit jacket. “You ready?” he asked, noticing how pale Peter was. 

Peter just nodded, shrugging into the jacket. Tony had advised him to opt out of a tie, so he was wearing a white dress shirt with the top buttons open and tucked into black jeans instead. It was just casual enough to still be fashionable and it fit Peter more than any full suit would have done. Pepper reached out to smooth Peter’s hair down, giving him an encouraging smile, while Rhodey was looking out at the audience. 

The backstage area of the expo’s main pavilion was small, the space at the front of the room taken up almost entirely by the huge stage. Tony could hear the voices of the audience drift towards the stage, a gentle hum of conversations and laughter. He knew that the main pavilion could fit around three thousand people at the most, but it sounded like there were more. As if to confirm his thoughts, Rhodey said, “It’s pretty packed out there. Lots of journalists.”

Peter took a deep breath, flexing his fingers. Tony gripped his shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze, just as Happy joined them and said, “Right, your friends are seated in the first row, Peter.” He reached out to fix Peter’s collar. 

“You’re going to do just fine,” Tony said. “Just read from the teleprompter. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“Okay, guys,” Danielle said from behind them, stopping next to Peter. “Full house. We’re going to get started any minute now. Just like we practiced, okay? Music and then you go on stage and speak.”

Peter nodded. 

As if on cue, the music started up, an intro video presenting all companies and universities participating in the expo starting to play on the huge screen hovering over the stage. Tony could see that Peter’s nervousness increased tenfold and smiled at him when Peter turned to give him a look. 

“Okay,” Danielle said when the music faded, “now, go, go, go.” She pushed Peter towards the stage gently. 

“You got this,” Tony said and crossed his arms as soon as Peter was out of reach, trying to disguise his own nervousness. He remembered holding his first official speech, how he’d stumbled over words every now and again, only thirteen and way too young. His father hadn’t been overly impressed, but he’d still nodded at Tony when he was done, telling him that “at least you went out there”. 

“He’ll do fine,” Pepper said, coming to stand next to him.

“I know,” Tony answered, his eyes following Peter towards the center of the stage where a microphone was set up.

Peter stopped in front of it, looking at the teleprompter and waited for the clapping to die down before he said, “Hello.” His voice wavered slightly, his hands folded in front of him awkwardly due to the cast. “Welcome to the first Mini-Stark Expo.” 

The audience started to clap and Peter gave a tense smile in return, apparently surprised by the reaction. 

Danielle sighed. “Introduction first,” she muttered.

Pepper shook her head quickly. “It’s fine. He can recover no problem.”

Peter waited for the clapping to stop before he glanced at the teleprompter again. Tony could see his hands clench tighter around each other for a moment. “Thank you.”

“Introduction,” Danielle said. “Come on, come on, what are you waiting for?”

Tony could see it, the way Peter’s expression shifted while he kept glancing at the teleprompter. It was the same kind of expression he wore when he went along with something he didn’t want to. Tony felt himself wishing he could just go out there and join him, pull the attention away from him. 

Pepper’s hand slid against his, entwining their fingers, and squeezed gently. “He’s gonna be fine,” she said calmly.

Tony took a deep breath and nodded to himself.

“I am Peter …” He faltered visibly. There was a pause, during which Peter turned his head and looked at Tony and the audience muttered among themselves. 

Danielle huffed an annoyed breath. “Just read from the teleprompter.”

Tony wanted to snap at her, to tell her to be quiet, to leave his kid be. He wanted to stop the whole thing. Because Peter was standing on the stage, not speaking, just staring at an audience that grew increasingly restless, before he turned his head to look at Tony again. He looked conflicted, almost scared. Tony gave him a smile, the last chance he was going to give. If Peter wouldn’t be able to recover, Tony was determined to walk on stage himself. 

But Peter seemed to find his resolve, because he turned back to the audience and when he spoke again, he sounded more confident, though still nervous. “I am Peter Parker-Stark.” 

Danielle cursed and looked at Pepper. “I thought we decided we’d go with just Stark.”

“I never made a decision of that kind,” Pepper answered. “It’s not mine to make. It’s not yours, either.”

“Your future”, Peter continued, “could very well begin today.” He glanced at the teleprompter. “Stark Industries has brought together the best companies, universities and institutions focusing on science and technology to give you an opportunity to explore and learn.” There was a short hesitation, then he continued, “I am supposed to tell you that Stark Industries was the reason I was inspired to become invested in science and technology … but … but that’s not true.” He paused and the audience remained silent, staring at him. “I’m … I’m also supposed to tell you that Stark Industries made me the best version of myself and I don’t find that to be true either.”

Danielle looked at Tony. “What is he _doing_?”

“Holding his first speech as heir to Stark Industries,” Tony answered, never taking his eyes off Peter. “Would you mind? I’m trying to listen.”

“I-I … I was born and raised in Queens, not far away from this very spot. My … parents were scientists and when I was four or five, they would take me to the New York Hall of Science every weekend and explain all the exhibits and experiments to me. I think I started to become interested in science then.” He paused. 

The audience was still silent. A few camera flashes went off. 

Peter swallowed, licked his lips and took a deep breath, standing up a little straighter and speaking with a little more confidence as he continued, “My uncle had a car, a really old one, that he didn’t want to give up on because, according to him, it was a classic. My aunt thought it was a piece of junk.”

There was a smattering of laughter coming from the audience and Tony felt the anxiety curling in his chest loosening, turning into relief. 

Encouraged by the reaction, Peter smiled, though it seemed a bit edgy still. “Old as it was, the car broke down frequently. Now, my uncle wasn’t really one to call a guy. He liked to do stuff by himself. So he fixed the car every time it broke down. A friend of his had a garage, so he went there and used the professional tools to do it. When I … when I turned six and came to live with my aunt and my uncle, he started to take me with him on those trips to the garage and I learned how an engine worked. I … I believe that is what inspired me to become interested in technology.” 

“Oh my God, Tony,” Pepper whispered, leaning into him. “He’s great.”

“I know,” Tony answered. 

Peter wasn’t even glancing towards the teleprompter anymore, his voice steady and his stance relaxed. “My aunt would spend her free time helping out in a homeless shelter and sometimes, she took me with her to help. She used to say that giving money is a nice gesture and definitely needed but … helping out personally would have an even bigger impact. I took that to heart and started to think of ways that science and technology can help us.” He paused and Tony saw him clench his jaw before looking in Tony’s direction. It was clear that he’d spoken about being Spider-Man with that last example. “I …” He looked back at the audience and smiled bashfully. “I’m sorry, that was really long and rambly.”

The audience laughed again.

“My point is … maybe, Stark Industries or any other company will be the key factor in pushing you to a place where you can live out and develop your potential, but … where you come from and the people surrounding you are the catalyst of all that and it’s important you never forget that. In the end, we don’t need Stark Industries or any other company to make the world a better place … _they_ need _us_.” He paused, ducking his head for a moment as he took a deep breath, before he smiled nervously at the audience. “This isn’t the speech that was written for me, in case you were wondering, but a very wise man told me to go off-script if something doesn’t feel right.” He swallowed. “I will never forget those trips to the museum or the garage or the homeless shelter. And I already know …” He hesitated, but he didn’t turn to look towards Tony this time. “I _know_ that I will never forget the time Tony Stark invested in me as … as an intern and … a son.”

Pepper’s fingers around Tony’s tightened.

“He is the reason I’m standing here today, speaking to you on behalf of Stark Industries, and … he is definitely the reason I went off-script.” There was laughter, but it was soft, almost hesitant. “One year ago, my world fell apart and Tony put it back together, teaching me that sometimes, family isn’t defined by blood or relation. Sometimes, family is something we find by accident, something we build. And I think we all know that when it comes to building things, Tony Stark is one of the best. He is one of my catalysts … and I think it’s time he knew that.” Peter looked at Tony this time. “Thank you.” 

With that, he stepped away from the microphone. 

It was quiet for a long moment, then people started to applaud, at first tentatively, then louder, until finally, the whole room was joining in. Peter stood there, on the stage, his cheeks flushed and his hands folded behind his back nervously and he seemed unsure of what to do next. Pepper put one hand on Tony’s back and pushed and it was all he needed to step into the lights and towards Peter, pulling him into an embrace. Somewhere, cameras went off and Danielle was probably having a heart attack right now, but Tony didn’t care.

He didn’t care at all.

***

The first thing Peter noticed whenever he looked out the window was Queensboro Bridge snaking its way across the river towards Queens. He could see the rush hour traffic crossing the river, only slightly lessened now that the summer holidays had started, and the air was flickering in the heat. 

His phone beeped and Peter checked his messages to see that Ned had forwarded him yet another news article raving about his speech at the expo. Peter didn’t quite understand how he’d managed to hold a speech that received so many positive reviews, but he had and he was mildly embarrassed about it. Fortunately, two days had passed in the meantime and the local media were starting to focus on other topics again, Mayor Lewin’s announcement that the Registration Act would be reactivated in the fall now becoming breaking news. 

Lewin had cited issues with confidentiality as the reason that Janus Labs would no longer be the city’s partner and had hinted that a new lab to win the contract was already found, though the name hadn’t been announced yet. The human trafficking of enhanced individuals wasn’t mentioned in any media, the public unaware of what had really happened in the last few weeks. Peter didn’t know whether it was better that way. 

He sighed and tucked the phone into the hidden pocket of his Spider-Man suit before he grabbed the mask off his desk and left the room. The penthouse they had moved into last week was stretching over the 42nd and 43rd floor of a new building near Tramway Plaza. Peter passed the two spare rooms they had at their disposal, one of them already half-way transformed into a small workshop, and the huge kitchen and dining area to reach the living room. The penthouse wasn’t as open-spaced as the one in Avengers Tower or the one in Tribeca, but it was the closest Lucy had had to offer to Queensboro Bridge and encased by panorama windows from all sides, giving fantastic views of every surrounding part of the city. It also had a large balcony facing Queensboro Bridge that was a perfect starting point for patrol.

Tony looked up at him when Peter entered the living room and smiled. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah.” 

“Be careful out there,” Tony said. “And be back in time for movie night.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Peter answered, sliding open the balcony door. It was his first patrol since he’d been kidnapped. His hand had needed almost two weeks to heal completely and afterwards, Tony had stuck to his guns regarding Peter’s grounding, so Peter had had to wait two more weeks before he was allowed out on patrol again. They’d been to the Compound for a few days, coming back in time to visit the graveyard when the anniversary of May’s death had come around. Peter had handled it better than he himself had thought. Even though the anniversary itself had hung over him like a dark cloud and he’d cried during their visit to the graves of Ben, May and his parents, the sadness only lingered for a couple of days before it started to lift. 

It became easier to remember the good times.

Peter pulled his mask on and checked his cartridges as he stepped outside.

_“Hello, Peter,”_ Karen greeted him. _“Are we going on patrol tonight?” _

“For a little bit,” he answered with a smile and perched on the edge of the balcony rail. He wasn’t worried about people in the surrounding buildings seeing him. It was public knowledge that Spider-Man knew Iron Man. As long as he wore his mask when going outside in the suit, he would be fine. “Could you set a reminder for me to be back here at eight?”

_“No problem. Should I give this new location a designation in my database?” _

Peter smiled. “Yeah,” he answered and got ready to jump. “Call it ‘Home’.” 

END  
July 2019


End file.
